Bingo
by Bellatlas
Summary: Peter kept waiting for an Iron Man suit to save him like last time he fell. It was too far away, though. Tony's panicked face on screen was confirmation. He'd used up all his luck. This was really it. For the Iron Dad Bingo prompts on tumblr in which maybe Tony isn't as okay with retirement as he says, and maybe Peter isn't so okay with missing out on five years his life, either.
1. Car Crash

**A/N: Absolutely love the Irondad bingo going around on tumblr, so I wanted to write 25 of my own here. Not quite sure who started the bingo game or how it works (oh how my research skills have failed me) but this prompt is from madatthesea's bingo card, so definitely go check their stuff out if you like this! **

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Peter's nerves felt like a live wire. Crazy and buzzing with energy, dangerously active. Even his heart was in his stomach, flopping around haphazardly.

"You sure you've got everything?"

Peter looked around. Aux cord leading from his phone to the stereo to give him directions (but _no_ texting, May had said. If he died texting and driving, May would bring him back to life and kill him again herself. Of that, she'd promised). License and registration in the glove box. He pat the many pockets of his cargo shorts until he could feel the lump that was his wallet. "Yeah. Yeah, I've got everything."

May gave him a knowing smile as she leaned through the passenger window to give his shoulder a squeeze, hair falling over her shoulder. "Okay, but can I offer you a tip?"

Peter smirked at her. His sweet, beautiful, amazing aunt who worried _way _too much. She was going to go gray before Peter so much as got his diploma. "I've got this. I promise."

"I know you do, but just hear me out. If the car starts giving you trouble-"

"Call you. I know, May. I'll be fine. Really."

"No. I was going to say that _when_ the car gives you trouble with turning on, you _might _want to try using these?" She reached into her purse and pulled out Peter's keychain, car key reflecting the evening sunlight into his eyes, mocking him.

Peter flushed down to his neck as he reached his hand out to take the keys from her. "O-oh yeah. Remembering these uh… might be kinda useful, huh?" He fumbled with them, making sure to unhook the little iron man figure that had been a permanent fixture on the keychain for years. _Someone _didn't need to be seeing that later, because _someone _would never live it down.

May just laughed. "Alright, my little genius. Have fun and _be safe._ Call me as soon as you get to the compound. Are you _sure_ you don't want me to drive you? Or Happy? I'm sure Happy wouldn't mind."

Peter was pretty sure that Happy would most _definitely _mind driving all the way down to Queens all of the sudden.

"I'm fine, May. I'll call you ."

"I'm serious! Don't forget, or I'll call Tony and give him an earful."

Peter grimaced. He might _actually _die of embarrassment from that. He couldn't even picture Tony on the phone with May in full mama bear mode. "I know you will."

May heaved a sigh and pulled her body out of the passenger side window, clasping her hands in front of her until her knuckles turned white.

"May, are you _crying?"_

"No!" she yelled, but she choked on her words and sniffed, and Peter didn't need any enhanced sight to see the telltale sheen of tears in her eyes. "It's just… the allergies are kind of bad, and-"

"_May!"_

"-And my baby is growing up!"

"May, it- it's okay. I'm not going that far, I'm just… I don't have to go."

"No! No. Happy tears. All happy tears. I'm proud of you. It's just going by so fast." She brushed the tears away quickly before they could fall and ruin her makeup, and waved him off. "You need to get going. You're going to be late."

"Right. Right." Peter turned the key and the car, well… it didn't _roar_ to life. It more so wheezed and sputtered to life, begrudgingly accepting that it was going to go on yet another journey that it wasn't really up for. It was an old car by then. Really old. Older than Peter, actually, if he was remembering correctly. New cars were expensive. And besides, he didn't think May would give the car up even if she did have the money for a new auto loan. This had been Ben's car, and she was sentimental to a fault.

He rolled the window up, thankful that it at least wasn't so old that he had to crank it back up, and there was a rather awkward minute where May was still on the sidewalk next to their apartment building, waving, never stopping, _still waving, _while Peter made the car buck forward and backward again and again in a sad attempt to shimmy out of the parallel spot that May had somehow managed to squeeze into when she'd pulled the car around _(seriously, _how _did she even get into the spot to begin with?) _until finally breaking free into traffic.

He glanced up into the rearview mirror as he drove away, May shrinking into just a dot behind him whenever her form wasn't blocked by other cars. She hadn't moved from her spot on the sidewalk, and though Peter couldn't tell from the angle he was at, he was sure she was still waving slightly. He'd put money on it.

He shook his head and focused on the road in front of him. All honking horns and red lights and stop, then go, _no stop! _Until he finally broke through the reckless boundaries of the city and all the skyscrapers and tall buildings faded into the background, replaced by suburbia and trees and greenery.

It would be a long drive to the compound. Tony's retirement party. A _superhero only _retirement party. And even if the party was basically an announcement to the rest of the superheroes (and _only _the other superheroes, lest some less than stellar people catch wind of Tony stepping off the scene) that Tony was giving up Iron Man for a quieter life, well, he would still always be _Iron Man._

His nerves jumped again, almost dizzying, and he looked over to gush to May, only, _oh yeah, _she was still back in Queens. It was just Peter this time, and the thought felt weird. There was no safety net without her. No '_Peter it's not a four-way stop!' _and slamming on the breaks a moment before darting out into oncoming traffic.

He rolled the window down and leaned his arm out, feeling the wind wrap around his fingers and tug at them like a kite. It was a bitter kind of cold outside (upstate New York was good at that) but he paid it no mind. It felt like it did when he would careen between buildings back in Queens.

It was freeing, the whole 'driving all on his own' thing, though he wasn't quite sure why. He'd undoubtedly been a lot freer than most other teens his age, what with Happy picking him up at every other location, the stellar- well, maybe not stellar - okay _far _from stellar - but_ extensive_ New York subway system letting him go pretty much wherever whenever he so pleased… and the whole soaring between buildings thing.

No, he wasn't _freer, _but there was just something about it. A certain quality that he couldn't quite put his finger to. It was like having the training wheels taken off when he was little. As one hour, then two hours slipped by and he sped through winding roads, he felt older. More competent. More trusted_. _More _adult._ All the things he yearned for most out of life. And, it was kind of crazy that an old beat up 2000 Honda Civic could make him feel like that, but hell. Why fight it? He'd soak in all the joy he could before Tony would inevitably come out complaining about the old car he'd been driving and insist on Happy picking him up next time. Which, _wouldn't_ be happening. There would be no going back after this.

The sun began setting, hanging low in the sky, a piercing orange over the treetops. Peter squinted through his sunglasses and flipped down the visor, but it wasn't enough. Some rays still managed to burst through, leaving a bright green spot over his vision no matter where he looked. Or, maybe it was bright pink? He shook his head and his stomach flipped, and not in the overexcited way it had been all morning long.

Even behind the sunglasses, the bright rays set off alarms in his head. It felt like his head was a pinball machine, pain ricocheting between his ears so quickly that he couldn't keep up with it or even brace himself for it. He cursed under his breath and could have sworn that he tasted bile rise in the back of his throat.

For all the good that his heightened senses did for him, they made up for it ten times over in days spent hunched over the bathroom toilet or in bed with the blankets pulled securely around his face because the sights and the smells and the sounds were all just _too much_ for one person to possibly handle.

He couldn't sink down into the seat and tuck his head between his knees and take shallow breaths now like he so desperately wanted to, though. He was _driving. _

And so, he squinted into the sun and swallowed hard, nuclear sirens in his head be damned, and kept driving. His eyes watered and he gripped the steering wheel. No matter how much willpower he had to keep on, though, there was a point at which it wasn't his choice anymore, at which his body would close his eyes and shut the whole thing down, because no matter the consequences, at least it wouldn't be so bright anymore.

He was nearing that point.

Maybe that was why when goosebumps pricked up on the back of his arms and he knew _something _was wrong, he was sluggish in pinpointing exactly _what _until, literally, it was glaring at him right in the face: a deer in the road.

It stood and stared at him, his headlights beaming back off of its eyes and turning them to a fluorescent blue. _MOVE, _Peter wanted to scream, but she just flapped her ears at him and continued chewing on a bit of leaf that was hanging out the side of her mouth.

Peter slammed on the brakes and was thrown against the seatbelt with such force that he worried that it might snap. Either the seatbelt was going to snap, or his collarbone. One of the two. Of that, he was sure. Pain burst across his shoulder and chest with a sharpness he didn't even think was possible, and he was pretty sure that the seatbelt had just won.

The brakes locked up, ABS light on the dash be damned, and the car skid, regardless of how quickly Peter pumped the brakes and tried to channel the information from his days falling asleep in the back of the driver's ed classroom at school. _"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" _he shouted

It was too little too late, though, and he quickly realized that there was _no way _he was going to stop in time to avoid the deer, and also _no way _he was going to allow himself to hit the deer. The poor thing had done nothing to deserve this.

He gripped the steering wheel and _yanked, _using perhaps a bit too much super strength than the job required. The car veered off into the oncoming lane with a thud that he prayed wasn't the deer even though there was nothing else it could possibly be_,_ and _kept going._

Peter felt his heart leap into his throat. This _could not _be happening. He overcorrected and pulled the steering wheel in the opposite direction, but it was too big a force on too small a car, too little too late, and it slid right off the edge of the road.

Peter saw it all happen in slow motion, realized with horror that it wasn't just flat ground on the other side of the road, but a ditch. A _big _ditch, with water coursing through it from the last rainfall that had to be at _least _four feet deep.

Oh no.

What had those dumb commercials that were always on the radio said? That as little as a few _inches_ of water could wash you away, all amid a cheery _"turn around, don't drown, your car is not a boat" _jingle. _Oh God, oh God, oh God._ The car rolled into it, and even for Peter's enhanced senses, he wasn't quite sure what was happening.

All he could remember was that _damn _jingle, with a new sort of foreboding edge.

The sound was, well, deafening wouldn't do it justice. It sounded like his eardrums should have split open. It didn't sound like metal on dirt. It sounded like the meteor that killed the dinosaurs had come back for round two. Everything outside the window was a blur, rolling around in a mess of brown and green and black and crunching metal, and then suddenly he could see nothing.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. _

It was all happening in slow motion. Or- no, nothing was moving in slow motion. His thoughts were just racing at double the speed. Everything around him was just slow in comparison.

The only thought that managed to race though, though, was that this was going to hurt. Really, _really_ bad. That, and the stupid jingle. But, there was nothing Peter could do anymore. Nothing he could do to get himself out of the car in time, to correct its course, to do _anything _but squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and the leather stitching on the cover gave way from the brunt of the force, close his eyes, brace himself, and wait for the worst of it to hit.

But, oh boy, he didn't brace himself enough. He _couldn't_ brace himself enough. There was no preparing yourself for that kind of impact. His neck was thrown to the side and his skull crashed against the portion of the driver's side window, that- thank God, he'd rolled back up a few minutes earlier due to the cold.

He heard a brief shattering noise. The windshield in front of him sagged in, the safety glass doing all it could to stay in one piece before giving way under the force of the ditch water.

Hundreds of little glass shards filled the car around him, biting into his face before he was met with a disgusting mouthful of water, all of it pouring into the car faster than he could manage to catch his breath. He accidentally swallowed a mouthful before he could figure out what was going on, and as he felt a cutting pain tear down his throat and into his stomach, he realized with horror that he must have swallowed a piece of glass, too. Then, _oh God, oh God, oh God, _the water became hot. _Too _hot. _Way_ too hot.

The car was still on and running as the water in the ditch rushed from under the hood and burning engine (or maybe the heater core had burst? He didn't know- he wasn't a mechanic) through the broken windshield, and onto Peter. It didn't matter how it happened. What mattered was that Peter was being _boiled alive _and he couldn't stop a guttural yelp from bursting forward, the sound alien even to his own ears.

He jumped, fumbling for the button to release his seatbelt through the almost boiling water, hands turning into claws as he fought to ignore every instinct telling him to _get his hand out of the burning water that instant. _Finally, he found it, and the seatbelt snapped away from him. Peter jumped out of the hot water and stuck to the top of the car, which was actually the right side of the car now that the whole thing was turned on its side, scanning the damage below him for the one thing he needed to take with him out of this accident: his suit. It was floating in the backseat, and as he reached out to grab it, his left shoulder screamed in pain. When did that happen? In the back of his mind, he remembered a snap and a crunch as he was thrown against the seatbelt and _please tell him that wasn't his shoulder. _He had a sickening feeling that it was.

With the little strength he had left, he shoved his back against the passenger window, the same one May had leaned through to tell him to be careful, to tell him that she was proud of him, shattered the glass, and crawled through. Using just his right arm and right leg, because _something _had happened to his left knee, too, ( why not? It was just his kind of luck) to crawl out of the ditch.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the car, wedged in place between the walls of the ditch as sewer water yanked loose pieces of metal off of it and swept them away downstream. Totaled. It was completely and utterly _totaled. _

_How_ on earth was he going to tell May? For a wild second, he tried to think of any way possible not to tell her. He could swing the rest of the way to the compound, get a new car, with all the same stains on the upholstery, somehow make the money appear out of nowhere, and pretend that nothing had happened.

He groaned, fumbling through his pocket for his phone, which, miraculously, had stayed put. This _couldn't_ be happening. Unmiraculously, the phone didn't quite survive the water damage. He groaned again, louder this time, and splayed all of his limbs out on the side of the road truly and fully. Karen it was, then.

He reached up to pull the mask on and winced, trying his best to do it one-handed. Using his left arm, or left anything for that matter, was _not _happening. He only got the mask halfway down his face before Karen beeped to life. Good enough.

"Good evening, Peter."

"Even'n," he mumbles.

"You appear to have several lacerations and trauma to the neck, as well as fractures and sprains along the left side."

"You don't say."

"Shall I contact Mr. Stark for you?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it's protocol to contact Mr. Stark whenever a severe injury has been detected."

"Karen, _noooooooo," _he whined softly, but it was too late, and he already heard the dial tone in his ears. Ugh. He was almost tempted to have Ned hack back into Karen to turn off all of Tony's ridiculous safety precautions again. Why'd she even _ask_ if she was just going to do it anyway? He dragged his good hand across his face and briefly considered ripping the mask off and throwing it to the ditch below, groundbreaking technology be damned.

But, the line only rang twice before Tony's face filled the screen in front of his eyes.

"Kid? I thought I told you. Drive straight here. No crime-fighting detours. What part of that was confusing?"

Peter groaned. "The drive straight part, evidently"

"What?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. I'll… I'll just be a bit late. That's all I was calling to tell you."

Tony squinted at him with that telltale '_bullshit' _twist to his mouth that Peter hadn't seen since the ferry incident. _Oh, God, the ferry incident. _He shook the memory out of his head and groaned when the motion made his head pound. When had he hit his head?

"_You _didn't call. Karen did. How late are we talking?"

"Um." He tried doing the math in his head. He couldn't swing. He couldn't walk. Hell, he didn't even know if he could stand. He very well might just topple over if he tried. This wasn't going to happen, was it?

He rested his head back on the edge of the curb, relishing in the coolness. He wasn't getting out of this without telling anyone. This sucked. This really, _really _sucked.

"Peter?"

"Uh… depends. How long would you say it would take to swing one handed to the compound? Or hop on one foot? Or clear a wreck?"

"You- What-?"

"There was a deer." Peter said plainly.

"And you hit it?"

"It and… a lot of other things."

"Well-" Tony sputtered, mouth gaping like a fish out of water with no noise coming out. "Are you okay? Actually, don't answer that. I'm looking at Karen's data now."

"No. No, I'm fine. Totally, 100% fine."

Tony shot him a belligerent glance. "Tell me, kid. If whiplash, a sprained ankle, first and second-degree burns, and a broken collarbone is _'totally 100% __fine,' _what does your not fine look like? Enlighten me."

"Uh-"

"Yeah. That's what I thought. "

As the adrenaline wore off, the pain set in. He thought that the initial impact was bad? Ha! He'd felt nothing, hyped up in fight or flight mode. _Now _was when the real pain started, and it was worse than Peter could have imagined. Easily the worst pain in his life, so far anyway, and he'd been through his fair share. He couldn't even pinpoint where. "_Shit _this hurts."

Tony frowned on screen. "What hurts, exactly?"

"Everything," Peter moaned.

"Alright. That's it. I don't care if Karen says there are no life-threatening injuries. We're calling you an ambulance."

"_No no no! _Karen is right. I'm fine. Just hurts is all. 'M just being dramatic." Even as he said that, a new wave of pain coursed through his left side and it was all Peter could do to swallow hard, squeeze one eye closed, and not yelp.

Tony's eyes softened. "I know, kid. I know. Just make sure you're in a safe place and hang in there… you sure you're fine? Because if you're not and I didn't call an ambulance-"

"I'm fine, Mr. Stark. Really. I promise. 'S not worth letting any paramedics in on the whole Spiderman thing."

Tony glared at him, calculating, for a few moments more.

"What?"

He smirked. "So… if you're really okay, then that means I can make fun of you for it now, right?"

"No. No, it does not mean that." He squinted at Tony. "Karen, you're such a tattle-tale," he tacked on under his breath, not intending for it to reach Tony's ears, but of course it did anyway. Because that was just his luck, wasn't it?

"Did you just say _tattle-tale? Really? _You know, Karen wouldn't have to tell on you if you, y' know, _did the smart thing and told me you needed help on your own."_

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "Ugh. Can you please just quit with the smart remarks and come help me?"

The other end of the line went silent. "I can do exactly one of those things."

'Mph," Peter huffed, and listened to the sound of the Iron Man suit firing up and roaring over the line, and Tony hitting him with a whole arsenal of one-liners the whole flight.

"Would you look at that? He takes down airplanes _and _cars! He's multitalented!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure you still look absolutely _smashing."_

"Hey, hey, hey, I heard you got an eight out of ten on your driving test. Guess the other two must have jumped out of the way, huh?"

Peter pulled the edge of the mask up - and _ow, _he forgot about his shoulder again- so that there was room to shove his middle finger into view of the camera.

Tony merely snorted and kept on. Peter closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the curb, the rest of his body on the narrow strip of grass between the road and the ditch. Man, he was tired. More tired than he'd been in a long time.

"Kid?"

Peter just let out a nonsensical "mph" in response, which evidently didn't make it to Tony's ears this time over the sound of the suit in flight.

"_Kid!"_

He cracked his eyes open to the panicked edge in Tony's voice.

"Oh thank God."

Peter arched an eyebrow up.

"Listen. I know Karen said that your injuries weren't on the life-threatening side of things, but what do you _expect _me to think after you've just been in a wreck, close your eyes, and _stop answering?"_

"_Relax. _'M just tired."

Tony blinked. "No. No, you do not _take a nap_ at the side of the road. Jesus. Do you need a lesson in common sense or something?"

"Probably."

Tony rolled his eyes. "But… you're definitely okay? I mean, I know you're not _okay_ okay, but like- not dying or something?"

Peter chuckled. "_Yes, _Mr. Stark. How many times do you want me to say it before you believe me?" He knew the answer, though. It was until he could see him in person.

"Fine. You're right, you're right… More jokes, then?"

"Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Stark. I didn't say that!"

He snickered to himself. "Well. Lucky for you, I'm almost there, so I'll spare the rest for the drive back. Happy is on his way."

"No, not Happy!" But, Tony didn't answer. If Peter had to spend the rest of the drive to the compound in the back of Happy's car, _again,_ he might actually just choose to jump out the window and hop the rest of the way.

He tilted his head back and saw the familiar form of Iron Man descending from the sky and land next to him with a powerful thud that made the earth- and his head and fractured bone- shake. Ow.

It was the first time Peter had seen Tony back in the suit since he snapped, and Peter was too banged up to even appreciate it. The irony of Tony suiting up again at his retirement party as Iron Man wasn't lost on him, though. Peter considered it only a retirement of sorts, though. Everyone knew, permanently injured with a mechanical arm and blind in one eye or not, nothing would ever really keep Tony from Ironman when push came to shove.

Tony took the helmet off and let out a low whistle. "You look like shit."

Peter stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Gee. Thanks."

His forehead creased with worry as he evaluated the scene. "No. I mean that this is worse than Karen made it sound. A _lot _worse."

"I told you. 'M perfectly fine." He barely got the words out before trying to sit up and pain tearing through the left side of his body with a guttural sort of yelp.

"Hey! Easy!" Tony planted a firm ironclad hand on his shoulder and helped him into a sitting position. "This is _not _fine. Christ, I almost feel bad for teasing you the whole way here."

"Don't worry. I forgive you."

"I said _almost."_

With a hand more gentle than Peter would have expected possible for Tony, he peeled back Peter's eyes and shone a light in them.

Peter closed them tight and turned his head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Your pupils are different sizes."

"That's not good."

Tony pinched his lips together. "No. It's not. Follow my finger with your eyes."

"Mr. Stark. I'm fine. Really."

"Just do it."

"Okay, okay." Peter relented and followed Tony's pointer finger as he moved it slowly from side to side. What was this supposed to _do,_ exactly?

"Cool. What about that light a second ago? Too bright?"

"Uh…" Peter thought. "I guess?"

Tony frowned, the creases on forehead starting to look as though they'd be etched there permanently. "That's also not good."

"Is it not?"

"Nope. Photosensitivity is another concussion symptom... Aren't you supposed to be, like, boy genius or something? Don't you know this stuff?"

"Well, I mean." Peter shrugged, one-shouldered. "I always think lights are too bright, so... not much of a difference from the norm. That's why I hit the deer in the first place. Too much sun. Too much super sight."

Tony paused to look at him for a moment at that. "You... what? That's a thing?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I really thought I had a handle on it."

"You didn't."

"What insightful observation." Tony wasn't particularly fond of how much of his sarcasm Peter was taking on, which made it that much more tempting for Peter to use.

He laid back down on the ground and covered his eyes with his hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Hey. Don't worry about the crash right now. Just take it easy. We'll get you patched up in a bit, and I'll call someone out here to get the car." He spared a look into the ditch. "Or, y' know. What's left of it."

Peter followed his gaze. "Is there _any _chance it can be fixed?"

"Ha! Nope. This is a 'throw the whole car away' kind of deal."

Peter merely groaned.

Tony patted him on the shoulder. "Seriously. Don't worry about the car. You're not the first teen to total the family car and you sure as hell won't be the last. As long as you're okay, the car can be replaced."

"No, it can't."

Tony looked back at the car again. Even being totaled aside, it wasn't a great looking car. Hadn't been for some time. He raised an eyebrow at Peter.

"It was Ben's car."

"Ben?"

"Ben. My uncle. May's husband."

The playful glint in Tony's eyes- the one that always tried to lighten up the situation with inappropriate and poorly timed jokes, was snuffed out in an instant.

"... Oh."

"Yeah."

"Ummm…" Tony and Peter looked over the scene once more. Maybe there was something they missed, some way to fix this. There had to be a way, right? They were _geniuses. _But, there wasn't. The car was done. It had driven its last mile once and for all.

"She's going to be so mad." Peter covered his face with his hands.

"Yeah… yeah, she probably will be."

"Ugh."

Tony kneeled by him and pulled his hands from his face with a strangled "Sorry, _oh my God,_ I'm so sorry!" at Peter's Yelp when the movement jostled his shoulder. He hesitated for a moment. Everyone had thought that having a kid would make Tony a bit better at the "giving a pep talk" thing, but it had only made him better at cheering _Morgan_ up. He was still completely out of his element with everyone else.

"May wants you safe. The car is just a _reminder_ of family. _You're _her actual family."

He sighed. "I guess."

"No. Not I guess. _You're_ what matters. End of story."

Peter just let out a huff. He knew Tony was right, but it didn't exactly help the situation, either.

"Well one way or another, we need to get you back to the compound before your shoulder sets weird or something. Or before you up and freeze to death. You're soaked."

"I'm not cold."

Tony smirked. "Wait until the rest of the adrenaline wears off."

"Can bones even set that fast?"

"Don't know. They might be able to if you're a mutant spider freak."

When Happy pulled up with the car, he was ready to lay into Peter in a far more serious fashion than Tony already had with his jeering on the way over. He could see it on his face. The look said everything: _How could a genius like you be so stupid? Why didn't you pull over if you were having trouble? You _never_ swerve away from the deer._

But, Tony shot him a pointed look: _Not the time, _and Happy nodded with pursed lips. This wasn't a time for reprimanding.

_Thank you, _Peter silently thought towards Tony, hoping that he'd be able to feel even an ounce of his appreciation. He liked Happy. He _really_ did. And, he knew that Happy begrudgingly liked him back. But having Happy drive him _again, _and after only his first time out was… completely humiliating.

"Hand me the first aid kit?" Tony asked.

Happy nodded and dig through the glove box as Tony swung into the backseat with Peter.

"You can do x-rays and stuff with that?" Peter questioned.

"What?" Tony looked at him like he had two heads. "No. It's a first aid kit. It has band-aids and gauze and stuff."

Peter didn't think it was that far fetched. Tony had successfully made far crazier things before.

"Hold still for me." Tony pulled out a pair of tweezers, and more gently than Peter thought possible, tilted Peter's chin up. "There's some glass in this cut… this is going to hurt."

It did hurt, and Peter sucked in a breath through his teeth with a "sorry," from Tony, but it didn't hurt as much as Peter was expecting. Tony was uncharacteristically gentle, smoothing the skin on his forehead and carefully picking out the glass bit by bit, even with his mechanical arm that he hadn't quite gotten the hang of yet. Peter had spent a good couple of hours in the old Avengers tower lab with Tony while the new compound was being constructed as he relearned how to use the new arm and focus on things with one working eye. He'd even learned a few new colorful words from Tony that he'd never heard before as Tony made mistake after mistake in the lab thanks to his new handicaps before grumbling at Peter to come do it for him with his fancy depth perception and steady hands.

It turned out that Tony _could _focus in on small pieces and keep his new metal arm steady when he really wanted to.

"Almost done," he told Peter as he had to dig in for a particularly deep shard of glass. Peter winced and bit the inside of his cheek. The rest of the drive all went wordlessly until they finally arrived back at the new compound and Tony packed his now bloodied tweezers back into the first aid kit. "Well, that's all_ I_ can do. Gotta let the docs fix up the rest. Wait, no! Actually, that _isn't _all I can do. Here." Tony reached back into the first aid kit and slapped a band-aid on Peter's forehead before grabbing him by his right arm and helping him out of the car.

Peter looked at his reflection in the tinted windows. "Are… are these _Spiderman themed band-aids?_ You have Spiderman bandaids. Wh- what?"

"Limited edition. So don't go using the rest of them up. You'll owe me a dollar ninety-nine if you do." Tony flashed him a smile and swung Peter's good arm around his shoulders, pulling him close as he stumble-limped into the compound and up to the med bay.

Two hours, a whole slew of x-rays and scans, a sling, some Advil and mucle relaxers that were doing absolutely nothing, and an ice pack later, Peter finally hobbled out to the then dwindling party. He was supposed to be in a wheel-chair since he'd bruised his kneecap pretty badly, but still somehow had enough energy and agility left in him to sneak out of the med-bay on his own two feet. He just hoped Tony wouldn't find out.

"There he is!" Tony again threw Peter's good arm over his shoulders and showed him off to everyone, introducing him just as the intern this time around (Thank GOD. He didn't want _this _to be his formal intro as Spiderman) but Peter didn't really have it in him to go around and mingle anymore. He hadn't revealed that he was Spiderman like he was going to, so there just... wasn't really a lot to talk to anyone about without blowing his cover until a more appropriate time. Despite how nervous and excited he'd been for this party, he found himself dreading the rest of night in which he'd probably spend the rest of it sipping a virgin cocktail while on his phone texting with Ned and maybe getting made fun of by Tony for the fruity drink. Okay, definitely getting made fun of.

But, rather than leave Peter to find a seat and try to entertain himself for the rest of the night, Tony steered him away from the Party and out towards the entrance.

"Mr. Stark? Where are we going?"

"I have a present for you."

"A present?"

"Two- no. Three, actually."

"Mr. Stark, you really-"

"Nope. Shhh. No talking. Take these. Present number one." He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a pair of… "Sunglasses?"

Peter put them on tentatively. "Whoa."

"Same tech that's in your suit goggles. Only, glasses. Because, well… I guess you can't go parading the Spiderman mask around all day anytime you need to dim things out and focus, can you? I… really should have thought about that before. I- yeah. Sorry."

"Wow. These… these are amazing. Thank you. _So _much."

"Save your thanks, kid." He pat Peter on the back and led him the rest of the way outside where-

"Mr. Stark. You didn't…"

"I did."

Peter looked on at the two new cars - _cars! -_ with awe.

"Figured you and May needed separate cars, anyway. So. Y'know. Two birds, one stone. All that jazz."

Peter didn't recognize the make or model of either, nor did he recognize the gaping sound that somehow he managed to produce, but he was pretty sure that each one was worth more than his entire apartment building and everything in it combined. Shiny and low and lean, one a subdued dark red, and the other a jet black.

"Oh, that's not all. We uh… we couldn't save everything, or even most things, but we got as many things as we could out of your uncle's old car and installed them where they actually fit. Really just the steering wheel cover and a few decorations that looked like they might have gone on the dash. I know it's not the same, but… I figured it's something."

"I, I, I-" Peter was at a total loss for words. "How can I repay you? I don't even know what to say. What do you even say to something like this?"

"Thank you is a good starting point, usually."

"Yes. _Yes. _Thank you, Mr. Stark. _So _much. I- just- what? How did you even get these this fast?"

Tony laughed under his breath and pointed to himself. "Genius billionaire. Oh. One more thing. Before you're allowed to take these home-" He pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly searching something up. "You see this?" he asked, turning the screen towards Peter.

It was a picture of a deer crossing sign.

"I know what it means, Mr. Stark."

"Humor me."

Peter barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, only the grand gesture keeping him from doing anything even remotely rude."Deer are in the area and you should slow down and look out for them," he mumbled.

"Congrats. You've passed my driving test." More seriously, he added, "You got _lucky_ you're only this hurt. I don't want to get a call like that again, okay? You're going to make me go gray, and I have too many photo ops to be doing that yet. So just… _please _be careful. Always wear those glasses during the day. That's how you can repay me."

"I will, Mr. Stark. I promise."

"Good." His mouth twisted to the side. "And- it's Tony."

"Tony." Peter tested the name out. Weird. Wrong, even. Tony was still far too much his superior for him to refer to him by his first name. That was going to take some getting used to. "Well, _Tony._ I should inform you that you are, in fact, already going gray, and it has nothing to do with me."

His face fell. "Scrap that. It's still Mr. Stark for you."

* * *

**A/N: And that's one of twenty-five, folks! If you enjoyed, please let me know in the reviews! Hearing from y'all really makes my day. Also looking for a beta reader, so if you or someone you know wants to beta read, please let me know ASAP!**

**Status of IDB Card: _Gala/Press Event_ | Happy Tears | _Insomnia_ | Peter Meets The Avengers | Alcohol | Identity Reveal | **

Car Crash** | _Career Day_ | _Hypothermia_ | _PTSD_ | _No Anesthesia_ | _Jealousy_ | _Sleepy_ | _College_ | _Nightmares_ | _Road Trip_ | _Drugs_ | _Losing Powers_ | _Bullying_ | Homesick | "I Thought I Lost You"| _Panic Attacks_ | Bruises | Working In The Lab | Sick Fic**

**If you have any suggestions for any of these prompts in italics (these haven't been planned yet) please let me know! I need ideas. **


	2. Sick

**Figured out how irondad bingo worked. You literally just submit to irondadbingo on tumblr for your own scorecard, lol. **

* * *

Peter woke up the next morning to what he could only describe as a nauseating amount of noise.

His phone layed next to him on Tony's guest bed, blaring at top volume and vibrating so hard that it was about to shake itself right off the edge of the bed. Let it, he thought. He'd rather his phone shatter into a million tiny pieces than move so much as a single muscle in that moment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been quite this exhausted.

Then, suddenly, there was Tony shaking his shoulder, and _oh my God, where the _hell _had he come from?! _

Peter bolted into a sitting position so fast that the room spun and he hit his head _hard_, square against Tony's, who had been hovering over him, with a sickeningly loud _thunk. _As if he needed to hit his head again after the day prior.

_"OW!" _Tony shouted, rubbing his forehead where a red mark was already beginning to form right in the middle. Oh, Peter hoped that didn't bruise. He didn't know if he'd be able to survive the embarrassment from doing that to Tony just from startling awake. "That's important. Precious cargo up here," he said, tapping the side of his head. "Relax. Your alarm has been going off for, like, I don't know. A while. Friday, how long has his alarm been going off now?"

"Mr. Parkers alarm has been going off for twelve minutes and forty-eight seconds," the AI chimed, her high voice seeming to pierce right through Peter's eardrums and into his skull. Spots danced in his vision. _No, no, no, no, no. _

"Yeah. What she said. So c'mon Let's go. We've got two cars to drive back to Queens. I know it's a one way trip for _you, _but _I _don't have all day, here."

The words went in one ear and right out the other, barely even registering. It was like Peter was hearing them underwater. He tried to move, but his muscles burned at the slightest motion and he immediately flushed down to his chest. The room felt as if it had just went up ten, no- twenty-something degrees, and sweat beaded up on his brow. It took a _lot _for Peter to break a sweat these days.

"Pete?" Tony snapped a few times in front of his face, trying to get his attention, but Peter couldn't will himself to focus on much anything other than just how _godawful_ he felt. "You okay?"

No.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and with a surge of energy that he didn't know he still had in him, threw the covers off from on top of him and dashed to the connected bathroom.

He barely had time to slam his knees down in front of the toilet and get the lid up, and _dear Lord _those were two too many steps before his stomach finally heaved of its own accord.

The door was still wide open and the bathroom light off. Those were two things that Peter did not have the time or the energy to take care of if making to the toilet in time was even in the realm of possibility.

Peter heaved again and again, coughing into the toilet to force the rest up when his stomach clenching wasn't enough to bring up whatever his body was rejecting. How it wasn't enough, he didn't know. With every heave, his abs clenched so hard that they _hurt, _and he found himself cursing his superpowers not for the first time that weekend_. _

His mouth burned. He forgot just how _awful _the taste of vomit was. And just how awful throwing up _felt._ Throw up sick was, by _far, _the _worst_ kind of sick there was.

He could barely catch his breath between episodes and only managed a pitiful moan into the toilet bowl before his stomach turned on him again.

"Pete?"

Finally, Peter caught his breath enough to speak, panting loudly into the toilet. "Can-" he shuddered, all the strength that he had miraculously gained to go throw up leaving his body. "Can you close the door, please? You-" He took another deep breath. "You don't need to see this."

Tony frowned and came over to lean in the doorway. "It's a bit too late for that."

"Mph."

"You done now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm done." Peter straightened, or tried to, but as soon as he moved, his stomach lurched again. _"Nope!" a_nd he planted his face back in the ring of the toilet bowl, throwing up straight bile until it was just dry heaving that _wouldn't stop, Jesus, there was nothing left, why couldn't his body get the memo? _How had this much even manage to fit in his stomach to begin with?! Finally, a minute later (but a minute was a _lot_ in vomit time, he quickly realized) Peter's stomach stilled, and he sat back on his heels and flushed. "Now I'm done."

He laid his cheek against the toilet seat, relishing the coolness. Porcelain was such an underrated material. Truly.

"Oh, _no no no_, Peter, get your face off of that! You're going to catch chlamydia or something."

Peter squinted up at him from his place straddling the toilet on the floor, and slowly raised his head. "This is _your_ bathroom, Tony. What exactly have you been doing in here?"

"Hey." Tony pointed a stern finger at him. "When I told you to call me Tony, this is _not _the context I thought you'd be using it in." He put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. "I feel attacked."

Peter rolled his eyes and stood, legs shaky. "Alright. Alright, I feel a bit better now. I think I can do the drive back."

Tony made a face at him, the same one as the night before when he'd begun drifting off on the side of the road. _Ugh. _That hadn't just been a bad dream, had it? He really wanted that all to just be a bad dream.

"What?" Peter asked, when Tony continuted to just stand there and _squint_ at him.

"You really do a lesson in common sense."

"No, no." He stumbled to the sink. "I don't really get sick. haven't gotten sick since, since what happened to me. I don't think that I even can."

He held on to the edge of the sink firmly with his good hand. Despite his advanced healing, he had been through the wringer the night before and his sprained ankle was still more than a little tender. "I must have just eaten something bad."

"Or," Tony said, waving a finger in the air. "You're just sick. Getting doused in sewer water in a ditch in the cold will do that to you, you know. Super-spider immune system or not. First time for everything"

Peter's thoughts flashed back to the night before, to the mouthful of _disgusting _icy ditch runoff just a moment before it started boiling, and shuddered.

"And I bet having to patch up _the entire left half of your body_ didn't do your immune system any favors, either."

"Mph," Peter grunted. He wasn't quite sold on the idea.

"Give it twenty minutes," Tony said. "Then we'll see."

Peter looked at himself in the mirror. He really did look like the incarnation of death itself: head of curls so tangled it was almost matted from a night tossing and turning under the covers. Dark, bruise-like bags under his eyes that were only made worse by his sickly paleness. Arm in a sling. Gripping the edge of the sink for dear life.

"No wonder you think I'm sick."

"I think you're sick because you _are _sick, dufus."

"Debatable."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Just get back in bed for a bit, okay?" He grabbed Peter's shoulder and helped him limp back to his bed, though you'd never know his ankle was even hurt by his mad dash to the toilet earlier, and Peter leaned into it truly and fully, maybe even more so than the evening prior when his injuries were still fresh.

He collapsed face first into the bed, and only stayed there for another ten minutes, perfectly still, before he was scrambling for the bathroom again.

Tony watched on from the sidelines with an arched eyebrow that could only say '_I told you so.'_

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I might be sick."

"_No way!" _Tony made the 'mind blown' gesture with both hands on each side of his head. "Who would have guessed?"

"Mph." Peter felt too sick to even retort, and Tony's eyes crinkled at the sides when he frowned. It was the little things like that- the peppered hair and the lines where there used to be none, that served as a constant reminder of how much time had passed while he had been gone.

"C'mon, kid." he grabbed Peter from under the arms and heaved him up onto his feet. "Bed. Now. I'll call May and let her know what's going on. You're staying here today."

Peter relented and crawled into bed with the last ounce of energy he had, only pulling the thin top sheet over him, since he couldn't decide whether he was burning hot or freezing cold. Or both. It was definitely both.

"Uhhh-" Tony glanced over Peter's trembling form. "Thermometer. Temperature taking is something you do with sick kids, right? I don't really know what to do here."

"'M not a kid," Peter mumbled. "And do you mean to tell me that Morgan has never gotten sick?"

Tony stared ahead, at nothing in particular, eyes going wide, almost as if he was having some sort of war flashback. Though, come to think of it, that wouldn't be particularly out of the question. He shuddered and broke out of his daze. "Somach bug sick? Only once. And that was _way, way _different. _You _can actually make it to a toilet. And didn't start getting sick out in the middle of the woods on a camping trip with a six hour drive back. That- yeah. As long as this isn't a repeat of that, we'll be fine."

Peter chuckled and then winced at how the motion shook his stomach. Tony Stark as a dad. Who would have guessed?

Tony hopped out of the room and came back in a moment later, chucking a thermometer at Peter, which hit him square in the eye.

"Um. _Ow." _He'd been saying that a lot today.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess quick reflexes aren't really your thing right now, huh? Well, consider it payback for hitting my head, then."

Peter took it and stuck it begrudgingly under his tongue. It tasted like pennies and antiseptic that hadn't quite had time to dry and his stomach flipped. _Again._

"Pete?"

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. It was only thirty seconds. Thirty seconds until it was done taking his temperature. He could wait until then, and swallowed hard. As soon as it beeped, he threw it to the bed and went back to the bathroom to resume his dry heaving for the third time just in that hour. Oh. _Oh. _So this was going to be one of _those _stomach bugs. Not a "sipping on Gatorade and a little queasy and maybe you go throw up once or twice while watching mid-day cartoons" kind, but a "throw up everything in your stomach and then just bile and then dry heave and then might as well just throw up your whole stomach and pray for death while you're at it" kind of sick. In other words, he was going to be in complete and utter hell for at _least _the next day.

Tony let out a low whistle. "102.8"

Peter groaned from the bathroom. Numbers meant nothing to him in that moment. "Can you just bring the pillow and the blankets in here? It's gonna be one of _those._" He squinted at Tony from the floor. "Unless you got some weird STD on the floor in here, too. In which case nevermind."

Tony responded simply by hurling the pillow at his head and a wad of sheets at his head.

* * *

When Tony returned an hour later to check on Peter, he hoped he would be asleep. Or at _least_ still _with it_ and just still throwing his guts up. He didn't expect Peter to be laying on the floor, cheek against the tile, eyes half open and unfocused, breathing shaky and shallow breaths that were coming _way _too fast for someone lying there and doing absolutely nothing.

"Peter?"

Peter didn't respond, didn't even grunt or blink or _anything. _Tony's heart leaped into his chest. He knew the kid was going to be okay, logically. If he was still breathing this hard, then there was nothing that his med team couldn't handle, especially not a measly stomach virus, but he image of Peter fading into dust was still vivid in his mind, even after all these years, and _he just got the kid back. _Emotions had a habit of not following logic very well, especially lately.

"_Peter!" _Tony slid down next to him on the bathroom floor. "Peter. Give me _something. Say_ something."

Peter huffed and managed a shaky thumbs up, and Tony laughed humorlessly. Leave it to Peter to look like he was dying on the floor of his guest bathroom and still shoot him a _thumbs up_ to say that he was totally fine.

"Fri?" Tony called up to the ceiling. "Give me a reading."

"Mr. Parker is currently suffering from dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, and elevated core body temperature. These are common symptoms of gastroenteritis and usually do not require medical intervention."

_"Usually?" _Tony knew what a stomach bug was. He knew it didn't _usually _require a doctor. He wasn't an idiot, for crying out loud, he was _Tony Stark_. "Fri, I'm asking if _Peter_ needs the med bay now, not for some generic reading off of _Web MD!"_

Her chime came a moment later. "Mr. Parker's core body temperature is high enough to require medical assistance."

He cursed under his breath. "_Tell _me next time, Friday!"

"Would you like me to add it to protocol to alert you if Mr. Parker is unwell or injured on the compound premises?"

"_Yes!" _Hadn't he programmed her to do so already? Hadn't he programmed her well enough for her to program herself to do that?

"Noooo," Peter whined from the floor. Oh. Oh, _now _he was willing to talk. When he was instructing Friday to take care of him. Of course.

"I'm sorry," the AI said. "I am receiving conflicting confirmations. Shall I add alerting you if Peter Parker is ill or injured on the premise to the protocol?"

"No." Peter said again from his spot on the floor, loud and clear this time, before Tony even had the chance to open his mouth.

"You know what?" Tony put his hands up in defeat. "I don't have time for this. I'll be back." Friday was _sooo _grounded. Could he ground an AI? Taking her offline to do maintenance on her sounded like grounding enough.

He slipped out to grab someone from the med bay, but not before flipping Peter the bird, only half joking, and returning with a handful of nurses not five minutes later. They crowded around Peter and Tony peeped over their shoulders, having to stand on his toes like a damn _toddler_ to get a better view of what they were doing to him.

"What's wrong? Is he going to be okay? He was talking just a minute ago."

A nurse held up a finger to shush him and Tony, and Tony almost snapped back at her. She was _his _employee, working on _his _protegee, _not_ the other way around. But, he bit his tongue. Just doing her job. She was just doing her job, he told himself, breathing out a long breath. Really, he was glad he had them here. Even if he did want to throw her out of the way so he could see what was going on in that instant.

"He needs a fever reducer and an IV for fluids," she said to another nurse.

"He can't have a fever reducer," Tony said.

The nurse looked back at him.

"His metabolism. It's crazy high. He'll just break it down before it can do anything. I think… At least… that's what his aunt told me…"

"Then…" The nurse shook her head, thrown for a bit of a loop. "Then we'll just have to give him a higher dose."

"Is that safe?" He wasn't a doctor or anything, but… that… certainly didn't _sound _safe. "Why don't you just give him one of Cap's? Those should work on him, right?"

She shook her head at him. "Giving a higher dose of the normal stuff is certainly safer than letting him sit at 105.5. And giving him one of Cap's is out of the question until we know what his metabolism is actually _doing._"

"_105.5?" _Tony asked incredulously. It… only an hour ago had been at 102. Which, of course wasn't good, but wasn't _105.5. _Things changed _so fast _with this kid, in _so many_ different facets of his life. He could never keep up. Damn, he was getting old. And he was going to be running _so _many tests on Peter after this.

Peter was still coherent enough that the whimpered and scooted away at the sight of the IV needle, which, in his defense was a _huge _ass needle that would make even the most 'unphased by needles' people squirm, but still out of it enough that he didn't mind trying to get away from it or _whimpering _in front of Tony. Which, he knew would _never _happen under normal circumstances.

And, just as quickly as the nurses had come in, working their gloved hands all up and down Peter with all the fancy tools and gadgets that Tony had supplied them, they were off again. Back off to the med-bay to do, well, whatever it was Tony paid them to do whenever they weren't performing life or death operations on dying superheroes. Probably play cards or something, if he were being honest.

"Wait- wait, you're not going to do anything else?" Peter was still on the floor, looking kind of gray in weird way that he was _sure _wasn't good, and hadn't moved since his feeble attempt to get away from the needle. He still looked like he needed a doctor. And, as smart as Tony was, he was _tech_ smart. His medical knowledge only went so far.

"There's nothing else to do," the nurse said point blank. "He has a fever. We gave him fever reducer and fluids. He isn't dying. He just feels bad. That happens with sick people, you know." She didn't even wait for a confirmation from Tony before turning on her heel and walking back out.

He decided that he didn't like that nurse's attitude. Apparently her card game was _so _much more important.

"Ugh." Tony slid down the side of the bathroom wall and watched Peter, now leashed to an IV pole in his guest bathroom, pant on the floor, tangled in a mess of sweaty sheets with his curls plastered to his face.

It tugged at his heartstrings a bit; he wasn't going to lie. And he felt an awful, insurmountable weight of guilt pressing down on his chest for allowing Peter to get to that state to begin with. He should have stayed with him. He was, after all, still a kid, as much as Peter would fight him on that. He could have gotten the IV sooner if Tony had, y'know, _been there _to see his illness continue to amp up.

But, he just hadn't felt like they were, well, _there _yet. They both were and weren't, in a strange sort of way. Their relationship a maze of pushing and pulling in which Tony was never sure what direction he needed to go or even what his endgame was.

To Peter, it had just been a few months ago that Tony was his distant, hard to contact, yet surprisingly generous almost-boss whom he turned down. Who he looked up to, sure, but they didn't really have a real relationship with. Not really.

But, for Tony it had been five years. Five years of waking up screaming into his pillow when he re-lived Peter disappearing in his arms back on Titan, waking Pepper and his newborn daughter up with him, night after night. Five years of having to look at that _godforsaken _picture of the two of them in his kitchen where Peter had drastically over-estimated how tall Tony was and put his bunny ears a whole hand length too high as he held the Stark Industries certificate upside-down. Every morning while flipping pancakes for his family. But, well, it's not like he was going to get rid of it either.

Five years of growing happy with his new family, but, as Pepper had put it, never being able to rest. How utterly happy he'd been when Peter, after _five goddamn years _had swung through that portal. The relief had been tangible. Even more crushing than the guilt.

But, it hadn't been five years for Peter. Nothing had changed for Peter. Not like _that _anyway.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the iron man keychain that his team had found at the site of the wreck the day before. Separate from the rest of the keys, he had been told. He must have taken it off. Tony had seen it before, of course. Peter wasn't slick, as much as he might think he was. He'd seen it on his desk when he went to recruit him for Germany, and again several times after. He didn't know how to feel about it. He was weirdly... _sort of offended? _The fact that he hadn't even taken it off altogether, but, at least from what he was told, took it off just so that Tony wouldn't see it... He wasn't sure. It made him feel like Peter still saw him as Iron Man. Not Tony.

He felt so much closer to Peter than his old role as the distant super-hero he'd fanboyed over before the flying alien donut of hell had come down upon them, but… he wasn't. They hadn't actually interacted in that time, he kept having to remind himself. Hadn't actually built the relationship that Tony felt deep down that they had. And, even though he knew that Peter wanted that relationship as much as he did, he couldn't shake the feeling deep in his gut that they just _weren't there_ yet. That they actually needed to build that relationship in person, together, rather than try to make it out of just the exuberance of Peter's fanboying and Tony's own five years of mourning.

And so, he didn't feel it was his place to sit with Peter when he was sick. That… that wasn't a thing that he would have done five years ago, that he would have done the last time Peter remembered him. And so, it just felt _wrong _to do that with him now. And so, he did what he knew how to do instead: threw sarcastic quips and cars at him.

"Tony?" Peter mumbled. "You okay?"

Tony blinked "What? Am _I _okay? _I'm _fine."

Peter shrugged. "You were staring into space."

"Yeah, and you were staring at nothing because you were practically on the brink of death. Come _get _me next time. Or tell Fri to. Or _something _for Pete's sake."

Peter snickered at that. "Pete's sake. Heh," and Tony rolled his eyes. "'M fine," he said. Already, he was able to straighten up and his face had a little more color to it, the scary grayish tinge it was taking on now gone.

Tony sighed. "You're really not. Looks like that immune system of yours was doing a bit _too _much for your own good."

Peter merely shrugged again and didn't answer. "You don't have to stay here, you know. You can go do… I don't know. Iron Man stuff."

Tony barked a laugh. _"Iron Man stuff._ Kid, why are you so determined to do everything on your own since you got back? Drive here on your own. Do missions on your own. Almost _die on my bathroom floor_ on your own."

"I did _not _almost die."

"Sure looked like it," Tony mumbled under his breath.

Peter blew a huff of air out of his nose, refusing to make eye contact. "Nothing. 'S nothing, Mr. Stark. Really."

"Which, I do believe, is almost universally the moody teenager code for definitely something."

Peter only grunted in and leaned his head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. "'M not moody."

"C'mon, kid. Spill. It's just me."

Peter looked at him funny. Right. 'Just me' was still 'Just _fucking Iron Man_ to him. Not 'just Tony.' They were getting there. Slowly.

But, before Tony could pry any further, Peter clapped a hand over his mouth again and shook his head, breathing deeply as he tried in vain to fight off the newest wave of nausea. The message was clear. This wasn't the time for talking. Tony would get down to it eventually, but it wouldn't be today.

"Oh, and Peter?" Tony flashed him a smile. "I wouldn't put my face on that bathtub either."

Peter shot him the sharpest glare he could manage in his stae before crawling back to the toilet. Tony stepped out to give him some privacy, laughing all the while.

* * *

**I know explaining the joke kinda ruins it, but to be clear, Tony is just messing around and (probably) didn't do anything in there. You actually cannot catch chlamydia from toilet seats. Which is very fortunate. Because I have been **_**unfortunate**_ **enough to get sick in many a public restroom. Yay chronic illness! **

**As always, any reviews are always very much appreciated.**

**Status of IDB Card: _Gala/Press Event_ | Happy Tears | _Insomnia_ | Peter Meets The Avengers | Alcohol | Identity Reveal | **Car Crash**|_Career Day_|_Hypothermia_|_PTSD_|_No Anesthesia_|_Jealousy_|_Sleepy_|_College_|_Nightmares_|_Road Trip_|_Drugs_|_Losing Powers_|_Bullying_| Homesick | "I Thought I Lost You"|_Panic Attacks_| Bruises | Working In The Lab | **Sick Fic

**If you have any suggestions for any of these prompts in italics (these haven't been planned yet) please let me know! I need ideas. **


	3. Homesick

**A/N: Haha, sorry this is a bit late. Between work and school and finishing up my own novel and fics and caring for all of my own animals outside of work, there's not a lot of time in the day. People keep telling me to get 8 hrs of sleep and do at least two hours of homework a night and work full time and get up early enough to eat breakfast, etc. etc. and I'm like… where in the world can I get one of these forty hour days? XD But, I digress… **

* * *

It was bizarre. The bodega had always been in its telltale little corner of Queens. That was the _bodega's _corner. More than that, it was _Mr. Delmar's _corner. It always had been, and Peter truly thought it always would be. It had carved its name into the neighborhood ages ago. Hell, if the bodega survived the Chitauri weapon bank heist gone wrong, had survived _literally being sliced in half,_ he was sure it would survive anything. Anything except Thanos, it would seem.

To see grand re-opening signs flying outside of the new location two blocks away in a building that looked _far _too new, all while a dollar general took up residence in _Mr. Delmar's _corner of Queens, was wrong. Very wrong.

But, he decided when he stepped inside of the new bodega and was greeted with that same telltale deli smell that he'd had _dreams _about since getting back, that transported him back a million years ago (or, like, five) it didn't really matter. He was back. His people were back. And, slowly _(so _slowly, dear God there was still so much to clean up) his neighborhood was coming back. And there was no part of his neighborhood quite like Delmar's Deli. Well… his _old_ neighborhood….

He winced at the thought. In the time that he and May were gone, their apartment had been taken by new owners. Their things sold. He remembered that day too well. Coming home bloodied and bruised from battle, Aunt May hysterical, and wanting nothing more than to take a shower, eat some ramen, climb into bed, cry for a bit, and pass out cold before having to get up the next day and put together all the pieces that had fallen apart. _Five Years. _He'd been gone for _five years. _

Only, they'd had no home. Not anymore. Just a box of old belongings that the new owners hadn't sold or tossed, and the car that they'd been gracious enough to give back. Which, was now totaled, courtesy of Peter himself.

They weren't awful people, the new owners. Under any other set of circumstances, Peter might have even liked them. But, he didn't. They were living in _his _apartment. As he had learned when he'd crawled past his old window to get a look back inside, had turned _his _room into a personal Zumba fitness room (the blasphemy!). And, well, it's not like they could _evict _them. They'd bought the apartment in an auction. It, and everything in it, legally, was theirs now.

And so, bloody, sweaty, and exhausted in every meaning of the word, Peter and May had been homeless, which was a terrifying thing, and he was sure they were far from the only ones.

They found a parking lot that wasn't _too _sketchy behind a 24 hour gym, parked the car, leaned the seats back, locked the doors (not that it really mattered. It was mid-summer and they'd had to roll the windows all the way down or risk getting baked half to death) and tried to sleep with the sounds of sirens and everything descending into chaos around them.

They were only a few hours into their attempt at sleeping when Happy called, despite everything he was probably handling with Tony and his, er, _condition _after using the stones, and promptly told the two to get their asses up to the old Avengers tower that instant. He didn't know how Happy even knew what they were up. He had to have been spying on them. Maybe Tony was coherent enough to tell Happy to check on him, and that idea gave Peter a flutter of hope. Maybe he wouldn't lose Tony. Whatever the reason, Peter could only find it in him to be grateful for the stocking this time around. Both he and May were both too exhausted and thankful and _desperate_ for an actual bed to argue, and Peter finally got his shower in. And a good cry.

He'd looked down at the pink-tinted water rushing between his feet to the drain on the other end of the room (because yes- in Stark tower, the shower was an entire _room), _and cringed at how salty the water was when it ran into his mouth from his hair_. _He knew he should feel something. Something about the world going on without him for five years. Something about how he shouldn't have ever even made it back to Earth from Titan. Something about having literally nothing anymore. _Anything, _really. But, in that moment, he didn't have it in him. He just felt tired.

They'd gotten a new apartment soon after (real estate was _booming, _didn't you hear?) but it wasn't the same. It would never be the same.

The new apartment was nice. Objectively a _lot _nicer than his old one. But, he hadn't grown up there. Ben had never lived there. There had been no secret sneaking out or secret identities there, and walking up the walls in the new place would never quite feel the same as in his old room, where every time he'd relive that little thrill from the very first time he'd ever walked across his ceiling and was sure he was dreaming.

"Peter!" Mr. Delmar's greeting startled him out of his musing. He stepped out from behind the counter with open arms, several different kinds of mustard already staining his apron even though the new bodega had only been open for a few hours. "Glad to see you again. How are you?"

"Good, good." He rubbed the back of his neck. "How about you?"

"Oh, I'm doing _great." _That took Peter off guard a bit. He'd asked as a formality. Everyone had been asking everyone how they'd been doing the past few months. People either were honest, or they lied in an 'I'm good,' that really just meant 'I don't want to get into it.' Nobody, least of all nobody who was dusted, said great in quite the same hearty and jovial tone as Mr. Delmar. Nobody was great yet. He flashed Peter a rare smile. "My daughter is too old for you, now."

Peter rolled his eyes. "How lucky. I'll take the usual," he said, sliding a five over the counter, and spun around to look at the new place. It wasn't the old bodega, but it still had the same vibe, the same general aesthetic. Same music, same signs above the aisles.

"Here ya go." Mr. Delmar pushed the sub across the counter towards Peter, who promptly unwrapped it and took as big a bite as he could muster. _Oh _Yeah. That was the stuff. He didn't realize how much he'd been craving one of these. Heaven on bread.

"So what are you up to today, Pete?"

"Nothing much. Just running by the old apartment to pick up some old things that the new owners found."

"Mph." Mr. Delmar's face crinkled and he sneered down at the sandwich he was making. "That's not right, what they're doing. That was _your _apartment. And that was _my _bodega." He gestured down the street towards the new Dollar General and shook his head. "This is ridiculous."

"Yeah." Peter shrugged. The legality of the whole situation was beyond him, and he honestly wasn't very keen on getting into it. He was a scientist. A superhero. Not a lawyer. Everyone who lost property in the years since the snap was told they'd be compensated, but nobody knew when that would be, or even where that money was supposed to come from. It was starting to look like it was just never going to happen.

"Sorry, kid," Mr. Delmar sighed, genuine now. "Hope you get some good stuff back today."

"Thanks. Yeah. Me, too. I'll uh- I'll let you know."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved goodbye and stepped out onto the chilly sidewalk, Italian club in hand, and he swore, one of Mr. Delmar's subs made everything just a _little _bit better. After all, wasn't post-apocalyptic New York _with _a sub at least marginally better than a post-apocalyptic city without one? The logic was sound enough.

He checked his watch. There were still a few minutes before Tony was set to meet him, and he slipped into a Goodwill a block down, shaking the December snow out of his hair in the entryway, boots squeaking against the soaked tile floor. He and May used to shop here for clothes all the time. But, since coming back from the snap, he was a near-constant visitor, always checking to see if any of the new donations used to be his. He _may _have even sent the drone in his suit to scout things out once or twice when he couldn't make it over. He'd actually had okay luck, too. He'd found an old picture frame of May's, some old fridge magnets that used to be theirs, and an old ceramic pen holder he'd made for Ben as a fathers day present years ago when May had taken him pottery painting as a kid. They were only little things, but, at the same time, they weren't little at all. May had cried every time he brought something home.

He scanned through the clothes, the furniture, the little nick-nacks, but didn't see anything familiar this time around. At least, not until he saw Tony walking up to him out of the corner of his eye, his telltale gait with the shoulders squared back and one arm that didn't _quite _swing like the other alerting him to who it was before he could even turn his head. Dang. He must have lost track of time.

He was dressed more casually than Peter had ever seen in the past, baseball cap and sunglasses on, and the mechanical arm hidden underneath a winter coat and gloves. Still, he looked distinctly like Tony Stark, and Peter was astounded that nobody else saw it.

Tony wrinkled his nose and looked around. "Ew. I can smell the bedbugs from here."

Peter shook his head. "It's not that bad."

"If you knew what some of these people did in or on these clothes before donating them-"

"Sounds like projection to me," Peter smirked. "Besides. They do a lot for the neighborhood. I like it."

Tony merely shrugged.

"Give me, like, one more minute. Sorry. I still need to check electronics."

"Well, I'll give you that," he said, following Peter to electronics. "Goodwill _is _a step up from dumpster diving."

Peter chuckled under his breath. "Actually, that's exactly what I'm looking for."

"What? Don't tell me you're dumpster diving at _Goodwill. _That's the trash's trash. That's like eating shit, digesting it, and then shitting out even shittier shit."

"_Shhh," _Peter hissed. "They can hear you, you know. Besides. I'm just trying to see if any of our old stuff wound up here. I really liked those old computers I found in that dumpster. What did you call it? A retro-tech vibe or something?"

"Oh. Yeah, something like that. I… I really doubt you're going to find those old computers here. The chances of that have to be one in a-"

"Aha!" Peter gestured smugly to a set of retro tech identical to the setup that he'd had in his room that first time Tony had come to whisk him away to Germany. They _had _to be the same ones. Peter inspected them closely. Same scratch mark on the side. Same splatter from a gold sharpie that he'd gripped too hard before he learned his own strength. These were it.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"These had _better _still work." Peter took the cord to the CPU and plugged it into an outlet on the wall, waiting for the telltale green light to start blinking. It didn't. Peter frowned at it. "_What did they do to them?" _An uncharacteristic rage sparked up in his eyes, and Tony stepped back to study him. He hadn't seen Peter mad since the ferry, and seeing it inside of a Brooklyn Goodwill just seemed... odd to him.

"They made it all those years. They made it through _being thrown in a dumpster in a storm, _and then some _asshole _had to come along and-"

"Hey." Tony put a hand Peter's shoulder, doing his best to calm him down without making a scene, or at least get his voice down. "Let's get them anyway. We can fix them up. It'll be fun. They'll be better than before, and you'll have way more tools to work with this time around."

Peter glowered, didn't even bat an eye at the idea of fixing up some tech with _Tony freaking Stark. _Tony put his hands in his pockets, not quite sure what to do. Never quite sure what to do when it came to Peter. That had sort of been his best shot right there.

"Fine." Peter deflated. "Fine. You're right. I can just fix them up or something." He ignored Tony's offer completely and carryied the items begrudgingly up to the front.

"Here." Tony began pulling out his wallet to pay for Peter, but Peter stopped him.

"It's fine, Tony. It's, like, sixty bucks, tops. I've got it."

"Nonsense."

"Tony." Peter fixed him with a deadpan stare. "I can do some things on my own. Okay?"

Tony pursed his lips tightly, but stepped back and slid his wallet back into his pocket. "Okay." Something about Peter's tone kept him from insisting again, and he slid the wallet back into his pocket, waiting at the entrance for Peter before slipping back out into the December cold with the old electronics in tow.

They began walking in silence. Tony wasn't quite sure what to say to Peter. As he'd been getting to know him better and better, he began seeing more and more sides of him: his typical people-pleasing fanboy, Peter when he was frustrated over something that wouldn't work right in the lab, him sad, him stubborn, the works. And every time Peter showed a new side to him, as happy about it as Tony was, it threw him for a loop in a manner that he was anything but used to. He was so rarely thrown for a loop.

"Thanks. For helping me pick up those boxes from the old apartment," Peter said when the silence between them grew thick and awkward. "You- You really didn't have to go out of your way, though. It's not like their heavy... for me, anyway. I just don't have enough arm for them both. I could have just made two trips on my own. Or just waited until Ned got out of class and had him and MJ help me.

"Ned? Your, oh, what did he call himself? Your guy in the chair or something?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's him."

"What do you mean 'out of class?' School doesn't start back up for another month."

It was true. The public school system had been flooded when all of the snapped kids came back at once over the summer. Not only that, but all those who were snapped had only half of their most recent year of schooling, while their spared counterparts were right on schedule. And with so many homeless and moving around, trying to find new places to live, nobody knew which school to put which kids in. It had been a complete mess. And so, New York public schools, along with most of the schools in the world, had deferred for a semester to let things settle out and regroup.

"Public School," Peter corrected. "Ned's in college now."

"Oh. Uh... That's… different," Tony said.

"Yep." Peter popped the 'p' and stared straight ahead, gaze steely and unreadable. "He has a study group for finals coming up or something today."

"Ah." Tony cleared his throat, not making eye contact, and Peter couldn't blame him. What do you even say to something like that? "Whose MJ?"

Peter flushed down to his neck before he even opened his mouth, and Tony practically lunged at the opportunity to tease him. "_Ohhh, someone has a crush," _

"It-No. I-It's not like that," Peter sputtered, and Tony gave him a sideways like that just said 'sure it's not.' But, it wasn't. It really wasn't. Okay, _maybe _Peter wanted it to be like that a little. Okay, maybe more than a little, but it wasn't. So, why was he this embarrassed?

"Remind me to give you a lesson sometime before you go back to school. You're going to be amazing with the ladies. This MJ character will love it."

"Nononono!" Peter would love a lot of lessons from Tony: fighting. Flying. Tech. Coding. But, a lesson in getting a date was _not _of them. Not from Tony. Not in a million years.

"Or guys." Tony put his hands up. "Guess MJ is kinda a gender-neutral name isn't it?"

"What?" Peter shook his head. "It's really not like that. We- she- we're not going to the same school next month."

"Oh." Tony's face fell. "She uh… she's in college, too now?"

"No." Peter shifted uncomfortably. "She got snapped, too. We're just not in the same school zone anymore."

"She moved?"

"_I _moved." Peter corrected. "New zone. New school."

"Shit!" Tony stopped dead in his tracks. "Geez, I didn't even _consider_ the school zoning when I-"

Peter stopped, too, and turned to look back at Tony with a quizzical glare. "_When you what?" _Both Peter and May thought that it was awfully suspicious that rent on their apartment was so low for so nice an apartment in _that_ part of Queens, and especially when all of even the worst apartments were practically being price gouged (supply and demand and all). _Surely_, Tony didn't have anything to do with that. "When you _what?" _Peter repeated.

"Nothing. I did nothing. Say, what's in these boxes that you need to get at your old place, anyway?" He popped a pretzel in his mouth from seemingly nowhere.

Peter fixed Tony with a stare that would be able to cut through him if it weren't for the fact that it was coming from _Peter, _but went along with the change of subject anyway.

"No idea. All I know is that the new owners suddenly found an old box of our things, and since, we're, y'know, _alive _now, they decided to call May and let her know instead of selling more of our stuff… how'd you even find out that I needed help moving boxes, anyway? That's kind of a long drive just for two boxes."

"Don't worry about it. You're getting me out of a board meeting. That's a good thing," he added at Peter's horrified expression. "Your aunt and I talk, believe it or not. She wanted someone with you. Someone _adult." _

"You mean my aunt and _Happy _talk, and _you_ talk to _Happy."_

"You got me." Tony held his hands up in mock defense, then, after hesitating for a moment, added "is it just me, or is the whole Happy and your aunt thing… sorta… "

"It's weird." Peter nodded. "Not just you. It's definitely _very _weird."

Before they knew it, they had reached the front door of Peter's old apartment building. _Nothing_ was quite as weird that. Five years. Even that piece of gum shaped like a cat just outside of the main entrance had managed to stay put after all that time, while Peter, a whole person, hadn't. Peter hadn't been back since, well, since _that _night. He swallowed hard. It was like something out of a dream. Whether it was a good dream or a bad one, he couldn't decide.

Walking up those stairs to build that lego death star with Ned, back when they were both fifteen… it felt like yesterday. It felt like a thousand years ago. How had things changed this much? In just the blink of an eye for him, Ned had moved on to college, their nights spent up late musing about what it would be like to be college roommates damned. He'd been left behind.

"Kid? You okay?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, why?" Peter lied.

Tony shrugged. "You just looked… distant, I guess."

Peter took a shaky breath before knocking on the door. He felt hot, all the sudden. Felt sweat pricking up on his forehead even though the hallways never were heated very well in the winter. He had to work harder to keep his breathing under control. _Oh, please not now, _he thought. But, he couldn't help it. The last time he'd been here was on _that _night. That night that he'd lost his home, and almost lost his hero. Again.

"Peter?"

Before Peter could reply, the door swung open, and _they _were there. The couple that took his apartment. May had tried bargaining, tried paying them much more than the apartment was actually worth, but they hadn't budged. Real estate had been hell lately, hadn't you heard?

"Come in, come in," the woman ushered, and both Tony and Peter stepped inside. It was so similar to the last time he'd been inside, the morning of that field trip. And _so so _different. A different couch. A different kitchen table. _A Zumba fitness room where his bedroom had been. _But, it was still the same apartment. Had the same smell. The same hominess. The same cold draft over the living room that had annoyed Peter to no end but that he found himself missing. The same scorch mark on the wall behind the stove from May's cooking, or, well, _attempt_ at cooking.

"We, uh, we were going through the closet to get the tree out," she gestured to the corner where there was a poorly constructed fake Christmas tree- the same spot May had always put theirs up, as well, "and we found these."

She crouched down and pulled two plastic bins out of the closet. "I have no idea how we missed them all these years, but their yours now. If you still want them, that is."

Peter's forehead creased, and he put his Goodwill bag full of broken old computer parts down on the kitchen table, sitting down on his knees in front of the first bin. He knew what it was before he even opened it. "Christmas ornaments."

He reached in, hand shaking slightly, and pulled one out. Woodchuck, from Peanuts, tangled in Christmas lights. He remembered that one. He was really little, probably five or six, and had become transfixed on it in a gift shop in Manhattan after watching the Christmas special the night before. May and Ben had bought it when he wasn't looking and surprised him with it Christmas morning. Under their tree in that very same corner.

There were the yearly ones that his parents had gotten him for the first several years of life, and that May took over after their death. They all sat neatly in rows with the year number glaring up at him: 2016, 2017, 2018, nothing.

He reached in for another. Why was his hand shaking this much? They were just ornaments. It was a baby blue little picture frame, with "BABY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS!" scrawled in comic sans across the top. In the frame, his mom and dad were on either side of him, just an infant, leaning in and kissing his almost-bald head while he made a comically terrible face at the camera. He still remembered them. Not as clearly as he used to, but he still did.

"That's you?" Tony asked, looking over his shoulder.

"No shit," Peter jested. "And to think you call yourself a genius." The humor evaporated between them without so much as a chuckle. His voice cracked and was shaky, portraying none of the confidence he'd had in his head.

Tony cleared his throat. "Why don't we get going. Y'know. Don't want to keep your aunt waiting or anything."

He didn't trust his voice not to break again, so he simply nodded, packed his computer parts on top of the first of the two bins, and picked it up. Tony followed suit with the second, and the woman walked them to the door, gave some sort of pleasant social required farewell that was completely lost on Peter because how dare she bid him good day out of _his _apartment, and closed the door on him. Peter stared at it for longer than he should have. It was so quick. He used to have a key to that door. He should be able to open that door. He'd probably never see it open again, and never see the inside of their apartment where he'd first walked across his bedroom ceiling again.

"Pete?" Tony nodded in the direction of the elevator, casting him a glace every few seconds as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

Peter stared straight ahead, gripping the bin tightly to stop the _stupid _shaking of his hands. Kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. Kept breathing. _In one two three. Out one two three. In one two three. Out one two three. _No panic attacks. Not here. Not now. Especially not in front of Tony.

"Um-" Tony looked down at Peter's hands. He was gripping the bin so hard that the red plastic was beginning to turn white and warp, ready to give way and break all of the delicate ornaments inside.

"Oh. Right." Peter loosened his grip, clenching his jaw all the while. _Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together. _

Finally, the elevator dinged and the doors open, and the two stepped wordlessly inside. Peter leaned back against the wall, bin in hand, and closed his eyes. Why was he so tired all the sudden?

"You're not gonna get any closure," Tony said out of the blue.

Peter's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Oh, man." Tony squeezed his eyes shut and Peter was pretty sure that if he weren't holding a bin full of glass ornaments, he would be rubbing his temples in the way that he tended to be doing a _lot _lately. "I'm really bad at this, aren't I?"

"Um." Peter didn't know what to say. "I guess?"

Tony sighed. "I mean… I mean don't _hold out_ for closure. You always hope that someday the people who hurt you-" he juts his chin up in the direction of Peter's old apartment, the people who had taken up residence there, "that they're going to wake up one day and realize everything that they did. And feel bad about it. But… it doesn't ever happen. And if you're waiting for that forever, then… then it's never going to get better. You're just going to be stuck waiting forever."

Peter stared at him, eyes wide, for an uncomfortable length of time. "Yeah. T-that makes sense."

Tony shrugged. "Easier said than done."

Another uncomfortable silence.

"That also makes sense."

* * *

The ride home was uneventful, enjoyable even. They took the subway back to Peter's current apartment, and it was painfully obvious from the way Tony stumbled any time they hit a bump that Tony was _not _used to public transportation.

"_Shut up!" _he hissed every time that Peter began to snicker, which of course only made the situation that much more amusing. Tony stumbled so hard that, even through the coat, his artificial arm made a conspicuously loud clang. They both froze and locked eyes, and Tony wordlessly made his way to an empty seat and took it instead, checking around to see if anybody had caught on. Too close.

May, of course, cried as soon as she saw the bins full of ornaments.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, fanning her face with her hand in a vain attempt to dry the wet trails down her cheeks. "Thank you so much, Tony. I- I was at work all day, and I didn't want him going back there alone, and-"

"Hey, like I told the kid. You got me out of a board meeting. It's me who should be thanking you."

"Are you staying for dinner?" she asked. "I could invite Happy, and-"

"No, no. Sorry. I uh- I've got some business to attend to." He met Peter's eyes from his place in the doorway. "Keep me updated on those computers, alright? I expect to see them in _pristine _condition next time I see them. "

"Will do, Mr. Stark."

And with that, Tony was off, making the drive, or maybe the flight- Peter wasn't quite sure, back upstate.

"I thought you didn't like him," Peter asked with a raised eyebrow when May pouted her lower lip at Tony's refusal to stay.

"I mean, he did save _literally half the universe. _And my Peter." May gave him an affectionate hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"And you," Peter added. "And, I'm sure it has _nothing _to do with Happy, right?"

May playfully swatted at his head, which Peter ducked expertly. "Nothing at all."

As they found a new corner of the room to set the tree up in for the first time, Peter thought that maybe, _just maybe, _this could be a place that he'd miss and build a new treasure chest full of memories in someday, too. Especially when, the next morning, there was an envelope under his tree with the telltale T.S. scrawled on it. He looked around the apartment. May was still asleep.

He padded quietly to the tree to open it and could barely believe his eyes. It was a class schedule. A class schedule from _Midtown High._ _No way. No way. _He could have fainted. Or thrown up. Or done a few cartwheels. Any of those would do. He was going to school with MJ. He was going to school with his friends again. Just- well _almost _like old times.

He fumbled with his phone to text Tony and nearly dropped it in his excitement.

_Thanks, Santa, _He texted.

The reply came right away: _NEVER call me that again. _

* * *

**I took a few liberties with Ned's character, there. Hope y'all don't mind!**

**Three of twenty-five. ****Status of IDB Card: **_**Gala/Press Event**_**|Happy Tears|**_**Insomnia**_**|Peter Meets The Avengers|Alcohol|Identity Reveal|**Car Crash|_**Career Day **__**Hypothermia**__**PTSD |**__**No Anesthesia| **__**Jealousy |**__**Sleepy |**__**College| **__**Nightmares| **__**Road Trip| **__**Drugs |**__**Losing Powers|**__**Bullying|**_Homesick**|"I Thought I Lost You"|**_**Panic Attacks**_**|Bruises|Working In The Lab| **Sick Fic

**If you have any suggestions for any of these prompts in italics (these haven't been planned yet) please let me know! I need ideas. Which one do you want to see next? As always, reviews mean the world, so if you have the time and liked the story, I'd love to hear what you think! 3 **


	4. Press Event

**More of a filler to segue into the next chapter, but I hope you guys still like it. To marteeey and AstralWolf, thank you guys so much. I literally cried (happy tears) when I read your reviews. They really mean the world. We'll definitely being seeing a lot of Peter hurt and Tony having to protect him. **

* * *

Peter was too preoccupied talking with MJ to notice that Happy was waiting for him on the curb outside of his high school when the bell rang for the day, for the thousandth time pestering MJ with questions about Decathlon.

"Can you ask me a few practice questions?"

"Can we schedule extra meets?"

" What's it like being team captain?"

"You're doing a _great _job, by the way."

"Are you sure it's okay that I missed that meet yesterday? I can make it up."

"Not everyone has to come if we do an extra meet, you know… "

They were just outside the front doors when MJ finally turned around to snap at him angrily. Something in her face fell before she could spit out whatever words she had been thinking, though, and she just squeezed her eyes shut instead. Peter visibly recoiled. He needed to learn when to just stop talking, didn't he?

"You know… that there are things to talk about that _don't _involve decathlon, right? Because this-" she gestured to Peter running his mouth, "was not on the list of responsibilities I signed up for as captain."

"I mean, yeah, but-" But… the topic of Decathlon was _safe. _It was the main thing that the two of them had in common. Well, that and being snapped. But, one of those topics was strictly off limits. He… he didn't know what to talk about if not Decathlon. Those were uncharted waters that he was more than a little nervous to dip his toe into. He could pretend to just be overzealous about the team when it was just Decathlon that he was talking about. It gave him an easy out if MJ wasn't being as receptive to him as he would have hoped.

"I _know_ it's not just Decathlon you're this interested in, Peter," she said, as if reading his mind. "If it was, you wouldn't have almost dropped out last year."

"No. No, I am, I'm just trying to… make it up… to the team. For almost leaving last year. Or… last five years ago, I guess."

"The team doesn't care, Peter. No. Oh my God, you know that I didn't mean it like that," she added at Peter's rather hurt expression. "I _mean_ that half of the team didn't even know you when you almost quit. And the other half that _was_ snapped and just got back know that you're with us for the long run. So. Like… you don't need to go proving anything."

"Oh." Peter stumbled over his words. "Yeah. I- I guess you're right."

MJ sighed and rolled her eyes. "Do you want to hang out sometime, Peter? Get coffee or go to a movie or something over the weekend? Outside of decathlon?"

Peter could feel the blood rise up in his cheeks as he lost the ability to speak for a second. MJ's lips twitched in what he could have sworn was _almost _a smile for a second.

"Y-y-yeah. That- yes! Sounds great."

"Cool. I'll text you. And _no _Decathlon talk this time, okay? That's my _one _condition. You exhausted that topic, like, yesterday."

"No Decathlon talk. Got it."

MJ looked down to hide her smirk and snorted a sort of laugh that was absolutely _adorable, _if you asked Peter's opinion. "Alright. Well, I'll see you over the weekend then, I guess." She looked past Peter to the car parked out on the curb. "You'd better get going before your driver over there pops a blood vessel."

"Driver?" Peter spun on his heel and noticed Happy for the first time, tapping his wrist where a watch would normally be and mouthing through the window '_Let's go!' _in the kind aggravated manner that only Happy could achieve.

"Oh my God, Happy's going to kill me!"

MJ laughed again. "If you want him to kill you faster, you can just talk about Decathlon nonstop for a week. Just a suggestion. It'll probably work."

Peter rolled his eyes at her as he stepped towards the car, but inside he felt like his heart might actually explode from how fast it was beating. Did… did that just happen? Like, for real?

When he opened the door to the back of the car, it was none other than Tony Stark waiting for him. Peter clambered in and pulled the door shut quickly before anyone could see, almost catching his fingers in the door in his hurry.

"What? Do I embarrass you?" Tony mocked.

"No, no. I just… didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Please," he scoffed. "It would have helped you recover from whatever _that_ was, back there." He nodded towards where MJ was still staring at the car curiously from the front steps of the school, definitely not the only one anymore. A small crowd was forming, and Peter was thankful that the windows were entirely tinted. He couldn't blame them, though. It was a _nice _car. "You really do need a lesson on girls."

"Do not."

"Oh yeah? Then what _was_ all that back there?"

_"That," _Peter said pointedly, "was _me_ getting a _date._"

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Hey! Don't look so shocked."

"Look, don't take it personally. That just didn't seem like an asking out on a date sort of conversation."

Peter stared straight ahead and frowned. "Really? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe I _totally _misunderstood. Maybe that's not what she wanted and- "

"Shhh-" Tony made a zip it motion that sent Peter back in time to his suit getting taken away. He barely suppressed a wince. "Tell me what the conversation was."

Peter took a deep breath. "Okay, so I've _kinda _been bugging her about decathlon all week because it's _kinda_ the only place we really talk, and she got _kinda _annoyed, called bull on me really caring about decathlon so much, and asked if I wanted to go to the movies or coffee outside of decathlon."

Happy and Tony shared an unreadable look in the mirror.

"Sounds like a date to me," Happy said from the front seat, and Tony nodded in agreement.

"Congrats, kid." Happy said, flashing him a rare genuine smile from the front seat. My, he was getting all the flatteries today, wasn't he?

"Hey!" Tony piped up. "Bring her as your date tonight! Dazzle her from the get-go."

"Tonight? What's tonight? Why are you guys even here? I mean, that I don't like it when-" he was cut off sharply by Happy.

"_Tony!" _he yelled from the front seat. "That was supposed to be a secret!"

"Secret?" Peter chimed in. "What secret?"

"And besides," Happy continued, both he and Tony ignoring Peter's puzzled stare, "he can't just bring a girl to this on a _first date." _

"Guys-"

"Why not?" Tony asked.

"That's way too much _way _too fast! Plus, his secret identity? How's he going to get away with that if he brings her?"

"_What?" _Peter whispered.

Tony rolled his eyes. "She's gonna find out eventually if she's going to be dating Peter. Better to get it out of the way in the beginning, right? And there's _no way_ she wouldn't be impressed by this! Do you know how many women at these events that I've-"

"_Mr. Stark, oh my God, stop." _

"No!" Happy shook his head vigorously. "This girl likes Peter for _Peter. _Starting things off by throwing a ton of money and fame into the mix isn't going to work."

"GUYS!" Peter finally yelled over their bantering. "What are we talking about? Maybe, I don't know, _I _can decide this?"

Tony turned to Peter, expression going serious. "We're going upstate."

"Yeah, I figured out that much."

"Remember that press event that you turned down after Vulture?"

Peter nodded. "The test?"

"Yeah, sure. The _test. _We're doing that now. Officially announcing you as the newest Avenger. May is already there. It was going to be a surprise, but I am _graciously-" _He turned to look at Happy, enunciating the words sharply, "letting you take this MJ girl if you want."

"Oh, uh-" He caught the rapid shaking of Happy's head in the mirror. "I- I uh. I think I'd rather just meet her at the movies." Happy was right. This would be _way _too much _way _too soon. MJ wouldn't be impressed. In fact, she'd probably be a bit pissed.

"Really? Suit yourself," Tony shrugged, and Happy finally pulled away from the school, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Speaking of suits… this press thing. What… exactly…"

"Just be confident and answer their questions. Simple. And there's a party afterward."

_Just be confident. Simple. _If only it were that easy. He shifted uncomfortably.

"What? You nervous or something?" Tony asked with a hint of amusement at the corner of his lips.

He'd meant it just to tease him, just as a joke, but it wasn't a joke to Peter. "Umm." Peter bounced his leg. "A little bit."

"Wait-" Tony put a hand up. "You mean to tell me that you fought Vulture. And jumped on a flying alien donut of hell. And fought _Thanos_ no problem. But a couple of reporters are getting you worked up?"

Peter shot him a look while he wiped the sweat from his palms on his jeans. "That's different!" Why'd he spring this on him like this? "One is a physical danger. And the other is -" he didn't know how to finish the sentence. _Social_ danger?

"So. What I'm hearing is that if I wanted you to not do something because it's too unsafe… this whole time, all I had to do was threaten to make you talk to reporters." He squinted at him out of the corner of his eye. "Interesting. Hmm… you know, I guess I never really thought of it like that. Growing up, there were always cameras and reporters and paparazzi just… _there._ A part of life. I guess I never even had to think twice about it."

Peter's eyes got wide. "Is… is that going to happen to me?"

Tony chuckled. "Not on my watch. And not if you keep that mask on."

Peter nodded, but he was still bouncing his knee, still rubbing his hands on his pant legs, still swallowing a bit harder than he really needed. This was supposed to be exciting. It was exciting for Tony, anyway. Why wasn't he excited?

Tony frowned. "I can call it off… if it's that big an issue."

"_No! _No. I'm fine. Great. Everything's great. I'm just, well, I talk like _this _and stumble over my words, and- yeah." He wasn't Tony Stark. The media loved Tony Stark, his quick tongue, and confidence and decisiveness. Peter wasn't just not that- he was practically the opposite of that.

"Here. Let's go over some practice questions, okay?"

"Okay," Peter breathed, and, for the rest of the ride, Tony and Happy quizzed him. Decathlon. It was like practicing questions for decathlon... only with your face plastered all over newspapers and knowing that an offhand comment could make or break your entire career.

"How did Tony find you?" Happy asked.

"Well, you see, I was just-" Peter barely got the first half of his sentence out, in a fake voice that was definitely deeper and with inflections that were far from his own, before the two of them almost died laughing.

"Kid," Tony wheezed. "If that's how you're going to talk, I'm turning this car around right now."

Peter made a sour face at him.

"Just be yourself."

"Mr. Stark, nobody wants that," he said, quoting Ned from all those years ago. He meant it more as a self-deprecating joke. Well, mostly. But, the joke was lost on Tony.

"What?" Tony's face went serious. "Who told you that?"

Peter shook his head. "Nevermind. Next question."

They worked out the details. Peter was to call Tony _Tony, _and not Mr. Stark to the press. Also, he was not to have any mention of his age. If an age-related question was asked, Tony would defer.

They were at the compound in no time flat. The boring hours spent staring out the windows that had ceased being fun the third time that Peter had to make this drive, flying by. Nervousness tended to do that, he supposed. Time only sped by when you didn't want it to. Peter knew that better than anyone else in the car.

"I can't believe this is really happening," Peter mumbled. Still nervous, but… a good kind of nervous. Maybe. At least more than before. "I- I didn't think I was still an Avenger."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "I made you one back on the ship, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but-" Peter shrugged. "That was an extenuating circumstance. I didn't think that I'd _still _be an Avenger when I got back. That it still stood."

An odd look went across Tony's face, and he looked away from Peter for a moment before turning back, lips pressed into a thin line.

"What?"

"Truth be told? I didn't think that there would be a 'when you got back.' But… yeah. It was always going to stand."

Peter solemnly nodded.

"That first time you offered to make me an Avenger… that _was _a test, right?"

Tony flashed him a broad smile, abandoning the dark and dreary memories from five years earlier in the past as if they'd never even happened. "Of course."

"Mr. Stark- Did I seriously throw away my first shot at being an Avenger?"

"Would you have made a different decision?" Tony asked.

Peter thought about it for a second. "Well, no… "

"Good then. It doesn't matter."

There were so many news vans in front of the compound that Peter didn't even recognize half of the stations.

"Suit up," Tony said, tossing him the mask that was sticking out of his backpack. "Unless you're ready for an _'I am iron man'_ kind of media frenzy.'

Peter shook his head. Not yet. Maybe one-day he'd reveal his secret identity, but not yet. For the time being, he was quite content with his secret identity being just that: a secret. High school was enough of a hellhole as it was without people knowing he was Spiderman to worry about. Although, he would like to see the look on Flash's face. That was, if Flash even still cared. He'd gone on to college, too. With Ned. Something told Peter that Flash would still be just as big a jerk as ever.

The suit moulded around him like liquid, crawling around his ankles and hands and making its way to his chest and snaking up his legs. He'd never get tired of that. It was just as cool every time that he put it on, like something out of a science fiction movie. Only real. And on _him. _

And then, with little more some gushing from Aunt May and hurriedly snapping his web shooters on, Tony took him by the shoulders and steered him through that very same set of double doors (or, well, a replica of that set of double doors. The whole compound was a replica, technically) that he walked away from all those years ago.

The noise stunned him, and there were so many flashes that even with his vision being funneled through the suit goggles, it was too much.

"Do you want me to turn the brightness down, Peter?" Karen chimed, voice low and soft in the way it always was when there was just too much going on. Always so attentive.

"Mhmm," he mumbled, careful not to move his lips in fear that the press would think he was just talking to himself. That's all he needed. Was he overthinking this? He was probably overthinking this. Except, what if he wasn't?

"Alright!" Tony stood and motioned for everyone to sit down until the cameras stopped flashing and reporters stopped yelling their questions over one another. "I guess we'll get started, then. The quicker we do this, the quicker we can all get downstairs to the alcohol."

The press all chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Well then. Just about six years ago to the day, I was lucky enough to stumble across this sonofagun on _Youtube _of all places." He gestured his arm towards Peter, who only blinked in response. "A budding young superhero who had taken to the streets afterschool to try to better his neighborhood. And, not only that, but he built the extra powers he needed to succeed, engineering things the likes of which I could only dreamed to have constructed at his age."

He turned to look at Peter as he continued to talk. "He is the most moral and skilled hero I've found in a long time. Scratch that- _ever._ And, it's him alone that made me decide to risk everything to bring half you back. Because, if Earth… " He shook his head. "It was never going to be worth it without a hero like him to protect it... Ladies and gents… please welcome the latest and greatest Avenger to the team: _Spiderman."_

Cameras flashed. Reporters cheered. May cried. But, all Peter could manage to do was gape a bit at Tony. He… he had no idea that Tony felt that way about him. All this time, Peter still felt like the annoying kid playing dressup with a grown up's shoes. Tony thought he was the greatest? _Peter _was the one who convinced him to snap? To give up his arm? His sight in his right eye? _Damn near give up his life with his new wife and daughter?_ That was… just… _so much. _Too much to process, especially in front of a room full of reporters. How- forget what he was supposed to say to that. How was even supposed to _feel _about that? Thankful? Honored? Intimidated?

Tony's eyes crinkled at the corners the way that they did nowadays when he smiled sadly at him. Peter knew exactly what he was trying to say: _sorry to throw all this on you. I didn't know how else to say it._ Tony hadn't even been meaning to say all that. But, in true Stark fashion, he had anyway. It felt right, so he said it. In front of a room full of reporters. Typical.

Instead, all he said was "Your turn," and gestured at him to begin speaking.

Peter only continued to gape. He was still wholly unable to speak after… after _that. _He was flattered. _Beyond _flattered. Somehow, though, the hero that Tony described just… didn't seem like him. He felt almost as though Tony was putting him up on a pedestal. Like he couldn't live up to Tony's idea of him after memorializing Peter for five years.

"Peter?"

Peter blinked.

"You're actually going to have to talk now."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. I guess that's kinda the point of this whole thing, isn't it?"

All the reporters laughed candidly, and Tony smiled. "Yeah. It is."

Tony started with the reporters and organizations that he knew- the easy ones that wouldn't give Peter too much trouble:

What powers were innate? Sticking to surfaces and super strength and agility.

Which did Tony make? Well, the suit, obviously. It was _Tony Stark. _It was kinda his schtick.

Which did he make? His amazing web shooters. He demonstrated by webbing up the reporter's mic and bringing it to his face.

"Does this answer your question?" he asked into it. He hopped down to hand the reporter her microphone back, the webbing sticking around the microphone in a wad and staying put. "Oh- er- sorry. That'll dissolve in a bit, I promise."

Another chuckle from the crowd as the reporter merely smiled and posed with the webbed-up mic for a photo from her photographer.

Then, Peter chose a reporter. And, he chose wrong.

"What occurred in your initial battle against Thanos, and afterward during the decimation?" The reporter asked. Peter barely had time to open his mouth before Tony reacted, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"Don't answer that," he said to Peter. "They were all instructed not to ask questions about Titan. You don't have to talk about that."

"I- I really don't mind," Peter responded.

"No. Really. You're not required to talk about things that you don't want to talk about."

"I do want to talk about it… I fought an alien supervillain on another planet. That's, like, every kid's _dream."_ Peter laughed nervously.

The reporters laughed along with him.

Tony looked at him for a second, a bit strangely, with his lips pressed into a line. He opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes darted to the room full of reporters, all smiling and nodding with Peter's joke, and then back to Peter. Was there something Peter was supposed to decipher here? He stared at Tony, questioningly, expression blank thanks to the mask over his face. "Well then. By all means. Go ahead… I guess." He gestured for Peter to continue, a bit slower and calmer than before. And so he did, without thinking too much more about it.

He talked about saving strange. "You know that whole thing from Star Wars where you get sucked out into space? Turns out that _actually _works pretty well!" Tony filled in the parts he missed enthusiastically (albeit there weren't many. After all, the memories are much fresher for Peter). He talked about meeting the Guardians, when Thanos turned up. Their fight, their defeat, Strange's prophecy. Everything, and the story took a bitter turn.

"It was only a few minutes later that everything… happened," Peter said, after finishing the story on how they'd lost the battle. "I guess I was sort of expecting it to happen a little later, since Earth was solar systems away probably, I don't know. But, when you have the rest of the infinity stones, well… in hindsight I guess I should have known that space and time didn't really matter anymore. Not when you have both the space stone and the time stone." Tony sat silently through his explanation. "Then, all the sudden… it happened. Mantis went first. The others took time, but not her. She was there, and then… she just wasn't. In an instant, just… gone. She just crumpled and vanished and blew away. The next one… geez. I actually can't remember his name. He was big. Really big. With him, it started at his arm, and was really slow. He knew what was happening, but I think he only realized it halfway through. I think that's when it hit everyone. That this was really happening. I honestly don't remember much of what happened next. I just knew I was one of them. I could feel it and I didn't really want to believe it, but-"

"Nope." Tony said. Just the one word, out of the blue and taking Peter _completely _by surprise before he stood, jaw clenched tight and fists by his sides, and walked out of the room, doors slamming shut behind him without so much as an explanation. Peter had never seen him act like that outside of the suit.

He froze. Everyone froze for a second. What was he supposed to do? He looked around for a cue: May, a reporter, _anyone. _It was Happy who came to his rescue, hopping up to the podium with him and urging him to quickly finish up the story. He tried. He _really_ tried for several minutes, but Peter's voice, mic or no mic, was lost in the cacophony that Tony leaving had caused, and Peter was ushered off stage to the back, away from all of the noise, where Tony was sitting on a windowsill staring out over the compound with his hands wrapped around either side of his head and his chin propped up on his knees.

Peter stared for a second. Tony looked so... so _human. _It was such a far cry from the famous superhero he'd seen on TV growing up, or even the confident devil-may-care person he'd been getting to know since Germany. Surprisingly, it didn't ruin it for Peter. He felt... well... not _relieved. _He didn't _like _that Tony was upset. But, there was some comfort in knowing that Tony was a person, too. Just like Peter. That maybe they had more in common than he thought.

"Mr. Stark, I'm _so-"_

"Aht, aht." He made his 'zip it' motion that he had become far too familiar with, and Peter fell instantly silent. You didn't interrupt Tony when he did that. Tony scrunched his face and when he relaxed again, he was totally composed. In an instant, it was like it had never happened. He even dared to smile. It was almost unnerving how quick it was. "You did great, kid. Played that room full of reporters like an upright bass. They loved you and how, oh what are the kids calling it these days? How _hashtag relatable_ you were, even as a superhero?"

"Mr. Stark, nobody says hashtag."

"Well then, they should." He combed a hand through his hair. It was a nervous tick that felt off coming from someone like Tony.

"I'm sorry." Peter said, plowing through when Tony tried to silence him again. "I thought you were just trying to protect me from talking about it, and I didn't mind. I… I didn't even think that you might not. How did I miss that? I'm sorry. I'm _so so so so _sorry."

"Don't worry, kid. It's nothing."

"That wasn't nothing."

"Really," Tony insisted. "That was-"

"A panic attack," Peter finished. Tony opened his mouth to object, but Peter shrugged. "I get them, too."

Tony's demeanor flipped in an instant, expression dropping. "You do?"

"It's nothing." Peter smirked as Tony tried to flip the script and tell him that _yes, it_ _was _a big deal, before seeing the hipocaracy and hesitating, snapping his mouth shut as Peter looked at him triumphantly.

"Well," Tony scoffed. "You won this round, but _only _because we have a schedule to stick to tonight. This is not over. We're talking about this later, capiche?"

Peter only rolled his eyes.

"Peter, I'm _serious. _This is _serious." _

"Fine, yeah, we'll talk later."

"Good… good. You did good out there. Good job."

Peter tilted his head at Tony. He changed topics faster than lightning when he decided he didn't want to talk about something. Peter almost pressed the issue, almost told him to just talk to him now and get it out of the way, but held his tongue. Pushing issues and making people talk about things that they weren't ready to talk about hadn't exactly worked out well for him today. Peter breathed a sigh of relief and went along with the change in topic. "Really? I didn't seem nervous? I felt nervous. I'm just glad I'm not as nervous anymore. I don't know how much more of that I could have taken."

As if on cue, Peter's phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out on instinct. MJ. It was a text from MJ.

"Check that. I'm definitely still nervous."

* * *

**As usual, thank you so much for reading, and please review if you so have the time. Love you all!**

**Four of twenty-five. Status of IDB Card: **Gala/Press Event**|Happy Tears|**_**Insomnia**_**|Peter Meets The Avengers|Alcohol|Identity Reveal|**Car Crash|_**Career Day | Hypothermia | PTSD |No Anesthesia| Jealousy |Sleepy |College| Nightmares| Road Trip| Drugs |Losing Powers|Bullying|**_Homesick**|"I Thought I Lost You"|**_**Panic Attacks**_**|Bruises|Working In The Lab| **Sick Fic

**If you have any suggestions for ANY of these prompts, but especially the ones in italics (these haven't been planned yet) please let me know! I need ideas. Which one do you want to see next? **


	5. Alcohol

**I just saw far from home. I need help in deciding whether this fic will include or ignore the events of Far From Home. Oh my God. Someone please talk to me about this movie. I have so many feelings. I can't. Holy shit. You know exactly what I'm referring to if you saw it. (Don't read the reviews on this one, guys. Already some spoilers from some of y'all. ;) ) **

**If anyone's super bored, I added about 500 words to each chapter. It's not a big difference at all, but if you've got nothing to do, there's a little extra in each chapter now.**

* * *

When Tony said that there would be a party afterward, he must have had a drastically different definition of the term 'party' than Peter.

_Party_ meant playing old vine compilations and eating way too much pizza and playing Cards Against Humanity while Ned whined about people getting pizza grease on his card sets. And no, Peter, of course, didn't expect anyone to pull up a vine compilation on Tony's wall-sized flatscreen TV and start playing a raunchy card game, but he didn't expect _this, _either.

Tony had dodged questions about Peter's age during the press conference, implying that he had just found Peter as a young teen and mentored him in _tech only_ (not_ in battle, no way, Tony would _never _bring a kid into that sort of thing- never!) _and that Peter was a fair bit older now than he really was.

The press hadn't bought it, though. Or, at least one of them hadn't. Tony had his suspicions on who. Tony and Peter _thought_ the press had bought it. They really did. But, before the party had even started, something about Tony Stark recruiting a child had hit Twitter, and Tony was getting _dragged. _Hard.

That hadn't changed in the time Peter had been gone. Twitter dragged was still the worst kind of dragged.

He stole a look at his phone and cringed. Trending. Tony was _trending _now. And not the good kind of trending. Already, his stocks were dropping. Plummeting, really, and Peter had a sinking feeling that the situation was still even worse than he was being told. Everyone was tense. The other reporters were getting on board with the Twitterverse. The whole thing was going to blow up a million times bigger as soon as their actual articles were published. This was not the kind of welcome on board he had in mind.

This wasn't a party. No. This was pure panic-filled _damage control. _Tony had come out saying that Peter was 23 after the fact, but it felt like a flimsy lie after the Twitter war had exploded, even coming from Tony.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit. _I'm _so _sorry, Mr. Stark. What do I do? How do we fix something like this?"

"You get out there and you act adult," Tony had told him, and Peter could practically _feel _the stress radiating off of him.

_Act adult. _Right. No pressure, or anything.

Peter looked around. Everyone had a drink in hand, none of the reporters actually daring to get _drunk_ at a work-related event, except for a few… and Tony. He was loud and boisterous, even more so than usual, cracking jokes and making toasts with everyone he walked up to. Trying to keep his demeanor cool and keep the reporters from jumping down his throat, no doubt (after all, he shouldn't be worried if he had nothing to worry about, right?) Pepper kept an eye from a distance, a strange mix of adoration and exasperation in her eyes.

The whole thing was just… _really_ stressful. There were a few Avengers there, the ones that lived there, like Natasha and now Wanda, but he'd geeked out over them plenty already, and there was really nothing left to say until such a point in time that he revealed his identity to them (which he wasn't against- there just hadn't ever been a good time, what with the car crash before the last time he was going to so). And, as much as the press loved it, he really didn't want Spiderman geeking out over Black Widow to be all over the front of the newspapers. That wouldn't exactly help his cause of being taken seriously as an adult.

It wasn't like he could just browse the web in the corner, either. Imagine that. A superhero who was just introduced to the press avoiding the press and hiding on his phone in the corner, in plain sight, at the afterparty _for him. _That sounded like a very teenager thing to do.

He listened from afar at what everyone was saying. Talking about Stark industries. Stocks.

He wanted to go up, to pipe up with something and charm all everyone there yet again, but his stomach flipped. It was different before, when all of the reporters were there waiting for him to say something, before the social media madness had begun. He had a handle on that, it would seem. But this? Just butting in on conversations about stocks with the instructions only to _act adult_ when _he _was the reason why the stocks were dropping to begin with? His mouth went dry.

He needed some water. Maybe a few of those little finger sausages that he'd seen a waiter carrying around a platter. Yeah, yeah that would do. It would then look like he was actually _doing _something, and not just… standing there. Standing there wasn't adult… probably. _Hell,_ he didn't know.

He walked up to the bar, ready to order something soft. A water or a sprite. Something like that. Before he could even open his mouth to order anything, though, the bartender smirked at him knowingly.

"Here for a Spiderman?"

"A- a what?"

"It's strawberry blueberry," she said.

"Oh. Yeah. That sounds right up my ally."

Peter didn't watch her make it. Instead, he looked around the ballroom. Tony was talking about something he was completely unenthusiastic about, forcing the fakest laugh he'd ever heard in his life, Wanda was nowhere to be found, and Natasha was just… staring at him in a way that made Peter shink in on himself and he couldn't figure out why. He ducked behind a sign at the bar. He was sure Natasha was still looking, but at least he didn't have to see her piercing gaze anymore.

"Here you are." the bartender slid the drink in Peter's direction. He caught it just before the glass slipped over the edge and some of the liquid inside spilled over the edge and onto his gloved hand.

Immediately, the smell assaulted his nose. A very _not_ fruity smell like the one he was expecting. Hell, the drink smelled like a hospital. Like she'd poured him a glass of hand sanitizer or rubbing alcohol.

Oh. _Oh. _

She thought- he - _no- _

His eyes widened underneath the mask and the suit's eyes along with it.

"Sorry, but- "

She only winked at him. "On the house."

Of _course_ she hadn't IDd him. She worked for Tony, and Tony had said that he was 23. And she knew she couldn't ask for an ID from a superhero with a secret identity. She'd get in trouble more for that than for giving a minor alcohol, especially with Tony trying so hard to prove that Peter was _not_ a minor.

He couldn't exactly give it back and tell her that he _was _a minor, though.

"I'll just, uh-" He needed to get rid of this before Tony saw, and looked around the party to find where he was and what route to take to avoid him, but he was nowhere to be found among the mass of people in the ballroom.

_"Shit. Where is he?" _

"Tony is putting Morgan back to bed after she got up and tried to sneak out to join everyone. He should be back within the hour," Karen answered, even though the question was rhetorical.

Well there went that plan of Tony smooth-talking Peter's way out of this one. He was backed into a corner, and slowly peeled up the edge of his mask to take a sip, just enough so that his bottom lip was uncovered but no features that were _too_ defining showed. He'd eaten endless sandwiches from Mr. Delmar just like this out on the streets of Queens, and nobody had caught on yet.

Peter couldn't believe that this was supposed to be berry. It tasted like straight up astringent, like the citrus toilet bowl cleaner that May bought smelled like, and his senses reeled. It was all he could do to swallow hard and not vomit then and there on his first sip. Wouldn't that be a headline: New Avenger Spiderman: ultimate lightweight.

"Wow. Yeah. Good." Peter held back a grimace and gave the bartender a thumbs up. She beamed.

"Glad you like it. Tony's idea for the drink."

Peter nodded and slipped away, scrunching his face up in disgust as soon as he was out of sight. Why did people even drink this stuff? And the irony was that it was so pointless for him, too. He already knew that he couldn't even get dr-"

He stopped dead in his tracks and a reporter almost slammed into the back of him.

_He couldn't even get drunk. _

So then… he looked down at the glass in his hand, frozen blueberries sloshing around in red colored liquor. No harm, no foul, right?

He could technically drink as much as he wanted, blend in with adults and stop sticking out like a sore thumb, and throw reporters questioning whether he was a minor off the trail before anybody could write any articles about Tony Stark recruiting a child.

Peter tilted his head down at the drink. It was a pretty solid plan, he had to admit, and he steeled himself for another sip. It was bad. _Really _bad, he wasn't going to lie. It sat on the back of his tongue and burned all the way down to his stomach, but at least now he knew what to expect and managed to swallow without making a face.

He smirked. _Game on._

He went out in the sea of adults, drink in hand, and it was as if a flip switched. The moment he had a drink in his hand, the energy of the people around him _shifted._ They were more receptive. More inclusive of him. They _believed _him.

Peter kept a mental list of notes. This would be a _great_ paper for his psychology class. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol in his hand, or the confirmation that he was supposedly in his twenties and therefore adult enough to be one of them. Probably the latter. But, either way, it was _working._ He relaxed his shoulders and let the conversation flow around him, eternally grateful to not be sidelined at his own party as he sipped on his drink. _God_ it was strong. So strong that just holding it over his face stung the inside of his nose when he breathed in above it and made his eyes water, even through the mask. But, in a weird way, it was kind of nice when he got used to it? When he swallowed, it was more of a warmth than a burn, come to think of it. One became two, and two became three.

Then Tony rejoined.

_"Hey." _He popped into the group of people that Peter was talking to and Peter nearly jumped out of his own skin. Why didn't he sense these things when they actually mattered? "Mind if I steal this one for a moment?"

Tony didn't wait for a reply before gripping Peter by the shoulders, a lot tighter than necessary, and steering him out of the ballroom, up the stairs, and through the set of double doors that led to the classified parts of the compound. The strange pleasant facade he'd put on for the reporters evaporated into thin air the moment they were out of sight.

"Mr. Stark! I- I thought you were putting Morgan back to bed, and-"

"I was. Then I got tipped off that Morgan wasn't the only toddler that required my supervision."

"Tipped off? _Karen!" _

"Nope. Not Karen."

Peter opened his mouth to ask who, then, but Tony fixed him with a glare that made his mouth snap shut of its own accord with an audible clack. "That's not the _point,_ Peter. The point is-" he looked at the drink, still clutched in Peter's hand. "The point is _give me that!" _He nearly swatted the drink out of Peter's hand.

"I can't believe you! I _trusted _you. What- why? _How?" _

_"Mr. Stark."_

"No. Peter. I don't want to hear it. And at a press gala, of all things?"

"I was going to check with you, but you were-"

Tony spun on his heel. "You were going to check if I'd _let you_ _drink?_"

"No, I-"

"Zip it! I don't want to hear it."

_"Mr. Stark, I can't get drunk!" _Peter finally said over him.

Tony's face shifted from one of anger to one of confusion. "What?"

"I can't even take normal people medication. Why would I be able to get drunk?"

Tony stared intently at Peter, searching for something that he couldn't quite figure out. "So… why are you drinking this then?" He looked curiously at the drink in his hand, half gone now.

"I mean, reporters were jumping on board with Twitter about you recruiting a minor, and this," he pointed at the drink in Tony's hand "kinda proved that wrong."

Tony closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, but it was too little too late to ward off the impending headache. "You thought that the best way to prove your age was to drink?"

Peter shrugged. "I… I guess. I mean, it seemed like it was working, at least."

Tony just shook his head at him slightly in disbelief. "Fine. Here." He handed him his drink back.

Peter almost didn't trust him and his hand shook when he reached for it back, as if the glass would shock him when he touched it. Tony had enough tech. He had no doubt that Tony could suddenly make any glass containing a mere molecule of ethanol shock him if he touched it. It was just the kind of petty he expected, even. But, nothing happened. Tony just gave him his drink back. Plain and simple.

"What?"

Tony looked at the wall behind Peter, undoubtedly staring at something on the screen of his glasses and listening to his own AI.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but... you're right. It's totally stamping out any belief that you're a kid. A few of those reporters are already stamping out Twitter rumors. People are switching sides." He squinted at Peter. "And you're _sure_ this stuff can't get you drunk? That drink you've got is something else. Made with 54% alcohol or something crazy like that."

Peter shrugged. "I'm not drunk yet."

"Fine." Tony shifted uncomfortably. "Fine, but only because if you go back out there now, after I pulled you outside, without a drink, or go order a virgin version, they'll know in a _second_ that not only are you a kid, but that you were _drinking underage _at one of _my _events. That's a media storm I am _not _up for dealing with. Kapiche?"

Peter swallowed and nodded, and Tony threaded a hand through his now unruly hair. "Oh my God, Peter, you're aging me _so _much. Karen, let me know if his blood alcohol concentration rises."

"Yes, sir," Karen chimed.

"Put your mask back on, Pete. We're going back in."

* * *

Peter stayed hot on Tony's heels for the next couple hours. Which, maybe didn't look great for his image as far as independence and adultness went, but geez, it was just so much _easier _with Tony around. With someone who just had that energy and quality about him to be liked, and even if he couldn't be liked, everyone had to _respect_ him. And to have someone like that on Peter's side, especially in an environment like this where he had something to prove? Well, that was invaluable.

What Peter wouldn't give to have that air of respect all on his own…

The conversation just _flowed_ with Tony, he realized, as the night went on. He talked about what he wanted to talk about, and usually nothing else, and changed topics in ways just forceful and related enough that you didn't question him.

It was amazing, really.

Everything was more charismatic, funnier, _warmer _with Tony around. _Good God _it was so much warmer. It had to be all the people. So many, in the ballroom. The heat felt almost suffocating, though Peter didn't quite understand why it hadn't gotten hot until now. Maybe it was just his senses going overboard again. They'd been teetering on the edge of freaking out all night.

Another conversation from across the room assaulted his hearing suddenly. It was a mundane conversation, but it was so _loud. _Or, was it?

He was amazed by how loud that conversation was, how _bright _the lights were, while every other sound was muted in the background. It was weird, but… but, he liked it. He really liked it.

"Blood alcohol concentration 0.02%. Contacting Mr. Stark," Karen chimed in his ears.

Peter's heart dropped straight into his stomach.

_What? No. _He had to have heard that wrong and shook his head ever so slightly.

There was no way. He couldn't! His metabolism was too fast for this. It shouldn't be _physically possible!_

"Karen, no!" he hissed, too low for anyone to make out. "_Do not!" _

"Alright, Peter. Canceling call to Tony Stark."

Peter gaped for a second beneath the mask. She actually _listened _to him? That was a first.

Though, he supposed Tony had just _told_ her to alert him. Not programmed her to do so no matter what. Huh. Well, if Karen wasn't going to tattle on him...

He stared down at the drink in his hand. It was almost all gone now, and the blueberries thawed. He didn't realize how much he'd like this. How right it felt. How much he knew he should stop.

But… but _technically _he was twenty-one. If you counted the years since he'd been born to now. Twenty-one years. That… didn't count… but, he could say it did. For just one night. Right?

He almost looked around for Wanda, because this _had _to be her telepathically moving his hand to his mouth to finish off the rest of the drink and not him. Had to be. He swallowed the rest of it and relished in the warmth slipping down his throat and into his the bottom of his stomach. Before he knew it, there was another drink of something in his hand, and he had no idea how it even got there.

Once the alcohol started making its way into his system, it didn't slow. All of the drinks from before and the ones he was still drinking hit him like a brick.

"0.05%" Karen told him. "Shall I contact Mr. Stark for you now?

"No."

He felt even warmer. Maybe a bit too loud for his own ears, but he didn't mind. He was at ease. Back to charming the press like before. Besides, Tony was way louder on a normal basis anyway. It was fine. Tony cast a sideways glance at him anyway.

Then, a little while later, Karen beeped in again. "0.08% blood alcohol concentration has been reached. It now illegal for you to operate a motor vehicle under New York law."

"Thanks, Karen."

"Anytime, Peter."

Peter was pretty sure that he'd just successfully crossed over from "buzzed" territory to "drunk" territory. His eyes were either sluggish or jumpy as he tried to trace where Tony was going and follow behind. Conversation assaulted his senses and he could never figure out quite which one to listen to. Wait… he wasn't supposed to listen to other people's conversations, was he? Listening to other people's conversations was rude. He was supposed to be following Mr. Stark. _That _was his job. Follow Tony. Don't eavesdrop. Easy peasy. Lemon squeezy.

He almost tripped over himself as he followed behind. And then, suddenly, he wasn't following behind Tony anymore, and didn't know quite how the time jump happened. One second he was walking behind Tony, and then the next he was _beside_ Tony, talking to more reporters, Tony's arm around his shoulders, squeezing a little too hard. _Awwe._ That was nice.

"What do you think, Peter?" Tony asked.

He snapped to attention. What? Were people talking to him? What had they asked?

"Umm." He fumbled over his words.

"You agree, right?" Tony pushed, eyes harder than Peter was comfortable with. "Yeah. Yeah, totally." He sipped again. His head swam. His stomach was warm. Maybe it wasn't warmth. His stomach _hurt. _

He still didn't know what they were talking about.

It didn't really matter, though. Tony guided the conversation effortlessly, and Peter didn't even need to know what was going on. Just smile and nod. He caught glimpses of the conversation: the suits, his stunts back in DC, but he forgot his train of thought before he could speak every time.

"Blood alcohol concentration 0.12%."

Peter blanched. What? It was 0.05 a minute ago, right? Although come to think of it, the passing of time had gotten fuzzy. He felt like he was skipping around from scene to scene rather than present when things were actually playing out in front of him. What did these numbers mean, anyway? Was 0.12% high. It sounded high. The numbers were definitely going _up._

It was fine, he decided. Peter would be fine. Tony wouldn't let anything _too _catastrophic happen to him. Tony was the _best._

"Hey T'ny?" Peter slurred. "You're the bestest." Was that a word? Bestest? Eh, he'd know what he meant. Tony didn't seem very pleased by that, though.

"Alright, that's it." Tony pulled him away yet again, this time out the back of the ballrroom and down the stairs to the outside. "Do you need help with the stairs?" he asked, malice thick in his voice and barely managing to contain his anger until such a point that they were too far away to be heard.

"No. I've got the stairs."

Peter looked down at his feet and looked down at the steps. The mask's goggles were suddenly far too dark, and he ripped it off so that he could see, relishing in the cool night air after hours in the stuffy mask.

He had to concentrate more on his footing than he would have liked, and _almost _got down the full set of stairs on his own. He stumbled on one of the last ones and Tony, already with a hand on his shoulder, kept him on his feet. Apparently, he didn't trust Peter when he said that he could make it down the stairs on his own. Apparently, he was right not to trust him.

He turned on Peter with a rage in his eyes that was usually reserved only for battle. For Thanos. His voice was eerily calm, though. Peter would rather he be screamed at.

"You _lied _to me." He said. "I trusted you, and you _lied_ to me."

"No, Mr. Stark. I didn't. I really didn't think I could. I wasn't getting drunk when-"

"But then you _did_ start getting drunk. Under _my_ watch. Surrounded by reporters. And got Karen not to tell me. And _kept drinking._ So tell me, Peter. How is that not lying?"

Peter looked down at his shoes. It was.

"You know what? Maybe all of those reporters were right. I never should have recruited a kid to begin with. Maybe you weren't ready for this." He turned around, away from Peter. "Just… just go up to the guest bedroom, Peter."

The words were like a punch in the gut. No. He couldn't mean that. Peter wanted to apologize. Wanted to remind him that no, Tony was _so right _to recruit him. To _please _not take the suit away again.

Not again. He couldn't do it again.

Instead, all he managed to say was. "Tony, I'm 21."

Tony stopped breathing for a second and spun back around on his heel. "_What?" _

"No- I mean. I only decided to keep drinking because I was already kinda buzzed?" Peter tried.

Two strikes.

Peter had been wrong. As Tony's voice boomed around the outside of the compound, he _definitely _didn't prefer Tony yelling.

"Is _that_ how you're justifying this? Those years don't _count,_ Peter! You're sixteen! Stop _bullshitting_ yourself! And you don't do things _buzzed _that you wouldn't have done sober. So you can shove that excuse right back up your ass where it came from."

Peter bristled. "_I'm_ the one bullshitting myself? _You're_ the one who glamorized the idea of me for five years and are getting mad when I'm _not _that idea." The words burst out without Peter's permission, and sunk in deeper and deeper in the long silence that followed.

Both of them just stood there, staring at each other, breathing hard.

Peter met Tony's eyes. They were unblinking as they stared at him. Completely unreadable. Peter waited for him to say something. Anything. But, he didn't, and the silence ate away at him until he sat down on the ground, crossed his legs, and filled it himself.

"I'm sorry. I- I _don't _feel that way. Really. I don't. I'm sorry."

Tony stayed frozen in place for a second, then moved slowly- more slowly than Peter had ever seen- to sit next to him. Peter fiddled with a piece of grass on the ground to avoid the eye contact.

"I mean. You've thought something along those lines before now to suddenly come up with that," Tony said.

Peter only shrugged. "No. I'm happy you think so highly of me. Or… did, anyway. I just… _why? _I don't feel like I can live up that. To everything you said earlier. I want to. But- But those years _did _count. Everything changed. Everything. Everyone's ideas of _everything_ changed, and everyone's idea of _me _changed, and I'm just supposed to go back to normal no problem? It felt like five _seconds_ for me, Tony." He finally looked up, and could feel his eyes getting glassy.

The length of time it took Tony to respond was unnerving. Tony never thought about what he said for long. He just reacted.

"I still think highly of you. I'm disappointed, but I still think highly of you."

They both stared at the woods in front of them. Breath from both fogging up in front of their faces. Peter heard an owl out there somewhere, but it was still too cold for any cricket chirps. His head was still swimming, noises still a strange mix of sharp and dulled.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I really don't think I put you up on a pedestal."

Peter finally looked up at him. "You said that half the universe wasn't worth bringing back if not for _me_ to protect them. That's a _lot." _

Tony just shrugged. "I stand by that."

Peter only blinked.

"Look, I'm not saying that you're perfect and that you never screw up. You've screwed up a _lot,_ actually. I think you're well above average in the screw-up department."

_"Thanks." _

"But-" Tony shrugged. "Your heart's in the right place, I guess. You're not doing this because you were pushed into it, you don't act self-righteous about it, and you _don't _do it for _redemption._ I love those guys-" he gestured towards the compound, "but I can't say the same for any one of them. Or me. And you've got the brain power and abilities to pull it off, too."

Peter didn't understand and just shook his head. "Well… what else was I supposed to do with my abilities?" He wasn't pushed into it, sure, but it's not like there was actually another choice, either. He had superpowers. So, he became a superhero. That was the natural course of action. It wasn't like he was going to become a super _villain. _Or, perhaps even worse, just do nothing at all.

Tony only shook his head and chuckled. "This is exactly what I mean." More seriously, he added. "So that's all this is, then? You just wanted to prove to me that you're not perfect? Because I could have told you that a year ago."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Stark. I don't know. No? Maybe? I just… you said to act adult."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I know, I know. I just… I know I'm not twenty one. But… I _should _be. Ned and Flash and half my old classmates are. And like, when I go to hang out with them, it's not like I can _join_ them. I just sorta drive them and watch. And, it sucks."

Tony's brow furrowed as he listened.

"I don't know. Like I said, everything has changed. I just… feel like 2018 Peter doesn't fit in with whatever 2023 is, y'know? I don't know. Maybe today was just more of a reminder of that than usual. I'm sorry."

Five years going by when you were middle aged? Fine. Things would change, of course. After all, five years was a _long_ time. But, for Peter, _everything_ changed. The difference between where in life he was and where in life his friends who survived were was? It was astounding. Tony knew that.

Really, it was no wonder Peter was thrown for a loop. A huge, _huge_ loop.

"I'm sorry," Tony said.

Peter merely shrugged in response. "Not your fault."

"Still, if there's ever anything I can do- Cap knows all about readjusting to life in another time..."

"You already got me back into my old school with MJ. I'd say that's plenty." Peter smirked.

"Still. If there's anything else-"

"There's not."

_"Well if there is," _Tony said pointedly. "Jesus, Peter, I'm _trying _to be _nice. _

"I'll let you know."

Tony nodded, pleased with that. "Alright then."

"So you're not taking the suit away?" The fear in Peter's eyes was tangible and unbridled.

"If you can drink a glass of water and manage to avoid throwing it up onto the guest bed, we'll call it even."

Peter squinted at him. "What do you mean _'call it_ even?' _You_ didn't do anything to make even."

Tony didn't answer and extended a hand to pull Peter to his feet.

"I got it, it, I got it," Peter said, but he stumbled into the railing within a second on the way up. He was willing to bet that his BAC had risen since the start of their conversation without Karen to alert him to it.

"No, you don't." Tony rolled his eyes, slinging an arm around Peter's shoulders despite his protests. "Don't close your eyes until you've sobered up more when you get back to the room. You'll feel like the whole room is spinning and throw up in a second."

Peter decided to try it right then and there, as they were walking. His head and stomach lurched and Tony's grip on his shoulders wasn't enough to keep him steady on his feet while Peter tried not to gag.

_"Whoa, there, bud!" _

"You weren't kidding."

"Why would I be kidding?!"

They were almost to the guest room (or, let's face it, it was Peter's room now) when a thought occurred to Peter.

"Hey, T'ny?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we not gonna talk about how you made a ridiculously strong drink and then named it _'the Spider-Man?" _

"Shut up."

* * *

**Oh boy, oh boy. These past two weeks have been something else. Chronic illness acted up and I spent more time than I would have liked camped out on my bathroom floor Peter Parker style, family has been out of the country, work and class have both gotten crazy, and I also just got a speeding ticket I can't afford because I didn't notice that the speed limit changed from 45 to 35. I'm not kidding when I say that y'alls support has gotten me through these shitty shitty two weeks. **

**Bee222: I am seriously **_**so **_**honored and this is one of the most amazing reviews I have ever gotten. I try so hard to get the characterization right and the progress of their relationship natural and am always so worried that it's not enough, so I'm SO thankful that you like it. Sic fics are hands down my favorite genre, and I wouldn't be against another one… hmmm… **

**RedfieldFamilyFan24: Thank youuuu! People calling my writing ability talented is so surreal. It still blows my mind that people are actually following stories is just mind-boggling to me. TYSM!**

**marteeey: I always look forward to hearing from you! And haha, sorry, but we can't let Peter be the only one going through stuff, can we? :) And that's a really good idea for the panic attack chapter! Hmmm… I might use something like that when I get to it. **

**Tookooho: OMG that would be great! I've already started writing the working in the lab prompt before I saw this, but maybe something a bit like this where Tony shows up for a school event would be cool!**

**manamugel: Trust me, it hurts just as much to write as it does to read. ? ****ﾟﾘﾭ****? There'll be a lot more of that, but I fully intend to end on a happy note! **

**As always, let me know if you have any more ideas for future chapters! I'm especially to open to requests for the ones in italics, but you can suggest ideas for anything! **

**Status of Bingo Card: Five of twenty-five. **Gala/Press Event **|Happy Tears | **_**Insomnia **_**| Peter Meets The Avengers | **Alcohol | _**Identity Reveal**_ | Car Crash | _**Career Day**_ | _**Hypothermia |**_ _**PTSD |**_ _**No Anesthesia | **__**Jealousy |**_ _**Sleepy**_ **| College | **_**Nightmares**_ **| Road Trip | **_**Drugs |**_ _**Losing Powers |**_ _**Bullying |**_ Homesick **| "I Thought I Lost You" | Panic Attacks | Bruises | Working In The Lab | **Sick Fic


	6. Hypothermia

**A/N: Okay. So here's the deal. I spent a lot of time on the panic attacks chapter. I posted it. And then I decided I hated it and took it down. Thank you so much marteey for showing it some love, anyway, lol. Don't worry, I'll still do a panic attacks chapter. Just a different one. As for the one I wrote I'm not sure what to do with it. Do you guys think I should post it on the side as a one-shot or something? If not then feel free to PM me and I'll send it your way. **_**Also, please send suggestions for these three prompts in particular: PTSD | Road Trip | Insomnia**_

* * *

_Who are you and what have you done with the real Tony Stark? _Peter wanted to ask.

Peter expected to see Tony working on something techy. Or on his phone. Or sitting there coming up with quippy one-liners for later, or whatever he did to come up with them so fast.

Instead, he and Morgan were bundled up from head to toe. She sported a huge fluffy down coat, mittens that went halfway up her forearms, and a hat and scarf that only let her eyes peek out from underneath. She looked like a pink and purple stay puff marshmallow man.

"Might as well have just put her in bubble wrap," Peter said.

"Don't insult me," Tony scoffed. "I could have done _far_ better than bubble wrap. And believe me, I considered it. Alas, Pepper disagreed with that idea."

"Let's go, let's go, let's _go," _Morgan chanted, pulling on Tony's sleeve insistently.

"One second, kiddo." He opened the closet and pulled out a coat that looked like it was probably worth more than May's rent every month, and tossed it to Peter. "Bundle up."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Stark, I'm fine."

He tossed a pair of gloves at him. "It's minus ten out there. Every time you complain, it's another piece of winter gear you're required to wear before stepping foot outside of this house.."

"Really, Tony, I-" he was cut short by a hat- one of the ones with a big pom-pom on top no less, hitting him square in the mouth.

"Oh, _c'mon!" _A wadded up scarf came at his face. Morgan chortled next to him.

_"Fine." _He shoved his hands into the gloves and wrapped the scarf around his neck and chin glaring at Tony all the while.

"Are you pleased with yourself?" he asked, voice muffled through the scarf.

"I'm a genius superhero billionaire who saved half the universe. As a general principle, yes. I am _quite_ proud of myself."

"Humble, too." Really, though, Tony had no reason to be humble. If Peter had saved half of the entire universe, then… well, he still would probably be humble as all hell. It was rooted deep in him. But, he couldn't fault Tony for it.

"What's the point of saving the universe if not for bragging rights?" Tony shrugged. Really, though, Tony rarely ever talked about it. Whether because he didn't want to think about it or because, Iron Man suits locked and loaded or not, he had taken to a simpler lifestyle in the more recent years, Peter wasn't sure.

"Alright." Tony clapped his hands, looking over Peter and Morgan. "Let's head out." He opened the front door of the cabin and the cold hit Peter like a wall. It wasn't the fun winter wonderland kind of cold. It was the wet, miserable, chilled to your bones kind of cold. Words like "polar vortex panic" had been floating by in the news and between people on the streets of Queens. Peter was ready for it to be over.

But, it was the last cold snap of the season, and the last time the lake would be solid enough to skate on.

"Let's go, let's go, let's _go!_ I'm going to be the best hockey player _ever!" _Morgan yelled, taking each of them by the hand and tugging them out the door into the snow. Tony barely had time to reach back and pull the front door shut.

"Hockey?" Peter asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow at Tony. "You're into hockey now?"

Tony shrugged. "I'm just as confused as you are. I've never watched hockey a day in my life. I have no clue where she got it from, but she's been insisting all winter that she wants to be 'the world's best hockey player.'"

"Like the ones on TV!" Morgan chimed in.

"Ah, so _that's _where you picked it up."

Peter smirked. It was just like when he was little and watched the Olympics with Ben and May. He'd watched Michael Phelps win competition after competition, and decided with utter certainty, that _that's _what he was going to be when he grew up: the word's greatest Olympic swimmer of all time. Even better than Phelps himself.

That dream hadn't lasted long. As it would turn out, despite enrolling him in _several _swim lessons at the community pool, Peter wasn't an athletic swimmer… or athletic in general. He could tread water for all of ten minutes before his muscles locked up and he needed rescuing, at least as of age eight. He'd learned that one the hard way.

Then again, that had been before the spider bite. Now, he'd probably blow everyone out of the water. Of course, he would never. It wouldn't be fair. As he'd already told Tony before, he couldn't become captain of the football team before, so it would be wrong to now. Still, the thought intrigued him.

There was definitely a Part of Peter that reveled in being naturally more gifted in physical strength and agility than everyone else around him, even if it wasn't quite fair and even if he didn't actually have to work for it.

"What are you smirking about?" Tony asked, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips.

"Nothing," Peter said, trying and failing to hide his amusement. He was only thinking about completely _owning _Tony out on the ice. Morgan, he'd have to let win. She'd be merciless.

Morgan bound through the snow in her sneakers and slid onto the ice, spinning with her arms out for balance.

"Hey! Not so fast! Put on your skates first. You can't be the world's greatest hockey player without skates."

Morgan giggled and slid back over to Tony, nearly falling forwards when she bumped into the snow bank. Tony reached out a quick hand and grabbed her by the shoulders before she could fall."

"Careful. Here, let me help." He kneeled down to help Morgan tie the skates, Morgan complaining all the while that "_I know how to tie my own shoes, Daddy, I'm not _three!"

"They need to be extra tight for skating, though, Morgan."

Peter only stared. This role was fitting for Tony.

Tony caught him looking and cocked an eyebrow up. "I'm sorry, do you need help tying your shoes, too."

"I did _not _need help!" Morgan chimed in, but Tony ignored it.

"No. _No. _I- no. It's nothing."

Tony shrugged and tossed Peter his own pair of skates. Peter had said that he didn't have any when Tony had invited him along. He'd been skating before, of course, but always had used the rentals. Tony brushed the excuse off with a wave of his hand and emerged from his lab less than an hour later with a pair of Peter sized skates that were _way _nicer than the ones that Peter ever rented in the past. Had he really used some of the red Iron man suit casing for the _skates?! _Morgan sported a similar pair, delicate metal daisies fixed to the outside of them. Purple and pink: her favorite colors (for now. It had been blue and yellow last week).

He laced up the skates and Tony handed him a hockey stick, just as over the top and impressive as the skates. Solid metal, all the way through. "Go easy on her," Tony whispered.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm not a monster, Mr. Stark."It was _Tony _he wasn't going to go easy on.

But, when he stepped onto the ice, cocky and ready to kick some ass, he realized that his confidence was still completely unwarranted.

His left leg slid forwards while his right slid back. He spun in a circle like that unceremoniously, hands outstretched for balance that wouldn't come.

Tony snorted. "What happened to your spider agility?"

Peter twisted his mouth in frustration, but it came out more like a pout and Tony couldn't hold back the laughter this time.

As it would turn out, his spider agility apparently couldn't comprehend ice physics.

Morgan slid up to him, a bit unsteady on her feet, but getting used to the skates and recalibrating her sense of balance quickly.

"You just step, step, slide," she said, demonstrating for him. "And you lean to turn."

Circles. He had a four year old skating circles around him, and Tony was getting much more amusement out of it than Peter would have preferred.

"Are you _recording _this?!" he asked when he caught Tony tapping the side of his glasses.

"Duh! This is gold. Good job, Morgan. Keep it up."

Peter's face soured even further. He'd get the hang of it. He just needed to skate around a few laps and get used to it. He was only on his second step of Morgan's 'step-step-slide" approach when his feet completely slipped out from under him. He landed flat on his back- hard, with a groan. The kind of fall that usually only happened in old Saturday morning cartoons.

"You okay?" Tony stepped onto the ice and slid out towards him: totally balanced and, dare Peter say, graceful. "Do I need to get you a helmet or something?"

"_No!_ I've got this!" He crawled forwards onto his knees and tried pushing himself up, but he barely got his feet under him before they slipped out again.

Tony reached down and heaved Peter back onto his feet from under the arms.

"Thanks," Peter said dryly.

"What?" Tony feigned shock at Peter's ungrateful attitude. "It's not _my _fault that you suck ass at this."

Morgan skated up behind her dad, giggling. "You just said _suck ass, _Daddy."

Tony's face fell in only the way that a parent who just taught their child a bad word could.

"Don't tell Pepper."

* * *

As it would turn out, Peter did get the hang of it after a few laps around the pond. He wasn't good, by any means. He still "_sucked ass," _as Morgan liked to tease, much to Tony's growing horror, but he was good enough to not fall… usually. He would be penty bruised by the next morning. But, he figured that he wouldn't be getting any better within the hour and joined Tony and Morgan in their game of Hockey. He wasn't going to win. He wasn't even going to have to purposely let Morgan win, as he and Tony had been planning. But, he'd be damned if he didn't at least score a single point against Tony.

Which, was significantly harder than it sounded. For every shot directed at Morgan, Peter had to dive out of the way to let her get it. Which, usually resulted in Peter slipping and completely eating it. For every shot towards Peter, he always crashed down trying to dive for the puck. Morgan thought it was a riot. He never got one shot past Tony. Morgan got plenty, had already won two games as Tony feigned struggle to block her shots. Peter? Zero.

"One more point and then we're going inside for lunch!" Tony called from across the pond. Peter's super hearing picked up on an "it's too _fucking_ cold out here." Tacked on to the end.

Peter readied himself, got his hockey stick ready. This was it. It was now or never, and he refused to go back inside with his tail between his legs after failing to score a _single_ point. Tony wouldn't let him live that one down.

Tony smirked and hit the puck. It was coming right towards him… right towards him. And BAM. Peter channeled any bit of spider agility he had left in him swung the hockey stick as hard as he could manage. Morgan jumped at the sound of the crack the hockey stick made against the ice next to her. The puck went flying. Tony didn't even try to get it, instead jumping out of the way of its path.

Finally

Peter's victory was short lived, though.

Alarms went off in his head, and goosebumbs popped up on the backs of his arms in a totally-unrelated-to-the-cold kind of way.

Something was about to happen. He froze and scanned the surroundings, but he heard it before he saw it: a deep groan from within the ice, right where his iron hockeystick had just struck it… and right next to where Morgan's unsuspecting flowery skates were planted on the ice.

"_No!" _He lunged for her, shoving her out of the way as hard as he could without hurting her, and she shrieked in surprise.

He was too clumsy in his skates to get himself out of the way in time, too, though. The ice gave out from under him with a deafening crack, and before Peter could even process what was going on, he was plunged into the icy water, only hearing a strangled "_Peter NO!" _ from Tony before the half frozen sludge and water filled his ears.

He tried to think. Tried to _react. _ But, he couldn't no matter how hard he tried.

_Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. _

Peter had been through a lot of winters in New York. He'd spent a lot of nights out on patrol in sub freezing temperatures, sometimes even without using his suit's built-in heater.

But, he'd _never _felt a bone-chilling cold quite like this. The water saturated his clothes and clung to his skin like little knives. He'd take the face full of glass during the car wreck a hundred times over before this. Even his organs were cold. It was like swallowing ice water on an empty stomach, feeling the coolness settle in the bottom of his stomach, but impossibly colder, and _everywhere. _His stomach, his bones, his blood, his brain. All cold. All freezing.

He tried to swim, but his muscles cramped. With every movement, he they felt like they just got colder and colder and _colder._

The sensation shifted in an instant. No, he wasn't freezing anymore. He was _burning. _So cold that the ice around him felt like flames licking at his face and limbs.

_Swim, dammit! _He tried yelling to himself, and finally forced his legs to kick. It was awful. His legs felt like they would break off.

The surface. He just needed to get to the surface, and became distinctly aware of the new burning in his lungs.

When he swam up, though, he didn't break through the surface of the water where he'd fallen, though. His skull collided with solid ice.

_Where was the hole where he'd fallen through the ice? _

He must have drifted away from it, and tried opening his eyes to find it again. He couldn't keep them open long enough, though, the freezing water too cold against his eyes.

He tried breaking through the ice above his head instead, using all of the strength that he could manage to pound a fist against the ice, but it wasn't enough. His limbs were slow and sluggish. He couldn't even feel them anymore. How was he to break through the ice?

Was he sure he was even moving his arms and legs?Where were they? What was even happening? His mind began to drift, his face and torso going numb along with his limbs. The burning in his lungs began to fade and his head started feeling… weird… fuzzy, even.

He was barely aware when strong hands gripped him around the chest and yanked him backwards and up.

He was in the air now. Flying. How was he flying?

"_Breathe, Peter!" _came Tony's voice, mechanical as it was filtered through his mask.

Peter blinked. Breathing. Yes, breathing! That was something he had been wanting to do! He sucked in a breath. It was weak and shallow, but felt like the most amazing, ethereal thing he'd ever experienced.

"Oh, Thank God."

Tony set him down on the front porch and dragged him through the front door, Morgan bounding after them through the snow.

"Goddamnit, kid."

Morgan was even too spooked to latch onto the curse word and throw it back in Tony's face.

"Pep wants me to give up the suits, but you're making it _very difficult." _He stumbled out of the suit, leaving it an empty shell behind him, as soon as the three made it through the door, and promptly began tearing the wet clothes off of Peter.

"Damnit, why are you wearing so many layers?" he yelled.

"Y'made m'e," Peter tried to say, but his voice came out heavy and slurred. He still couldn't feel his lips. Still couldn't move anything quite quickly enough, and leaned his head back against the cool floor.

Tony muttered something else, Peter wasn't quite sure. He tried to listen, but his mind kept drifting. He thought it was a string of curse words, but there's no way he'd say all that with Morgan around.

"Come _on, _Pete, you have to help me out here!"

"Mmm?"

"No. No, eyes open."

Peter blinked at him, blearly, and only then realized that Tony was trying to pull his shirt over his head. The water on it had already frozen in the short flight to the front of the house and Tony, despite his best efforts, was having a hell of a time trying to get it off.

Peter lifted his arms so that Tony could pull it off, and promptly lied back down on the floor, paying no mind to the piles of soaked clothes that were thawing and leaving puddles on the floor around his face.

The outer layer of his pants were waterproof enough to not retain any water, so after removing the skates and rolling up the cuffs of his pants where some water had seeped around his feet, Tony at least let Peter keep some of his dignity.

Peter just wanted to lie there and rest. Two fingers jabbing into his neck for his heart rate interrupted that idea.

"C'mon, kid. Get up. The floor is cold. We need to get you somewhere warm."

"Mph." The words went in one ear and out the other. His limbs still didn't want to move. _Peter _didn't want to move.

"Jesus Christ." Tony picked Peter up again, almost bridal style, and set him down on the couch.

Peter, sitting statue still on the couch, suddenly started to shake. Muscles almost vibrating and teeth chattering.

"Good. Good. Shivering is good," Tony said. "Keep doing that."

It was out of Peter's control, but he nodded anyway.

Tony picked up armfuls of blankets from where Morgan had been constructing a blanket fort the night before and threw them at Peter.

"_Nooo." _Peter febely tried to push them off. "T-t-t-oo hot," he said, teeth chattering all the while.

"Did you just say too _hot?" _Tony was incredulous.

Peter flexed his fingers. "Feels like 'm burning."

"Sorry," Tony said, piling more blankets on top of him. "But you need to get warmer anyway. You can complain later."

Peter groaned and sunk down into the couch, eyes squeezed shut as the phantom flames burned his body from the inside out..

Tony's eyes softened as he watched Peter's face contort in pain. "Sorry, kid. Really. The burning feeling will go away soon. That can happen sometimes. But, you need to be warmer for it to go away. Here. I'll go get you something hot to drink. Warm up your insides. Do you like coffee?"

"H't chocolate?" Peter asked. His mind was starting to speed back up again. Slowly but surely.

"Yeah, we've got that. Sit tight."

Tony came back only a few minutes later, a mug of hot chocolate for Peter and coffee for himself. He sat back on the couch with Peter and stared straight up at the ceiling. "You have exactly five minutes to drink that whole thing, or I'm calling May and telling her everything."

Peter raised the mug to his lips promptly, even with his hands shaking violently. "Are you ok-kay?" Peter asked. Despite his best efforts, and despite the burning that was still lingering in his limbs, he couldn't quite shake the slight chattering of his teeth when he spoke.

"No." Tony said honestly. "You almost just died."

"Sorry. Next time, I'll-"

"No." Tony sat straight up. "There will not be a _next time. _Christ, I always thought that if something were to happen, it would be with crime fighting. But _no._ _Hockey_ is what almost did you in!"

"I'm sorry," Peter said.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't be."

"It's my fault. I hit the ice too hard with super strength, and… and _Morgan_ almost fell in because of me." The guilt of the admission sat deep on his chest. He had almost cost Tony _Morgan. _

"Kid, you _saved _Morgan. _I _shouldn't have made an _indestructible metal hockey stick _of all things_._ A normal one would have just broken!" He shook his head. "That was stupid. _You_ saved her. I… couldn't."

Peter only shrugged. "You saved _me._ Actually, that's the second time you've saved me from drowning."

Tony laughed humorlessly. "Just do me a favor and stay away from water. Everytime, you sink like a rock."

"Hey! That is _not_ true."

Tony raised an eyebrow and Peter opened his mouth to argue, but he had a point. The only time he hadn't almost drowned around a large body of water with him around was the ferry incident… and that spoke for itself.

"I'm telling you kid, just… just don't go in water. You're no Michael Phelps."

At that, Peter gave him the sourest look he could manage.

"_What?"_ Tony asked

"Noth'n," Peter said, scowling into his mug.

"You're way more competitive than I pinned you for," Tony said.

Peter shrugged, and looked over at Tony. He had a tablet out and was already tinkering with something new, though Peter could barely see from underneath his cavern of blankets. "I did score a point, so in the end…"

"Do _not _say worth it, Parker."

"_Worth it." _

Tony only shook at his him, and as he did, Peter finally got a clear view of the project he was working on the tablet. It was just a title and a few lines of code, but it was enough to make Peter choke on his hot chocolate: The Bubble Wrap Protocol.

* * *

**Okay, I'm going to start giving out other fic suggestions because there are too many good fics to read on this site and I need to fangirl with someone. Please check out If You're Happy And You Know It by starcrosslane here on , along with the companion fic Friendly Neighborhood Intern. It's all about Peter and Happy's relationship and is SO cute and in character. Seriously a joy to read. **

**Onto the reviews! **

**marteeey: Ahaha, thank you so much. Yeah, I saw a lot of people on the press conference chapter looking forward to the next panic attack chapter, and I had already started writing the alcohol one and was like OH NO! Glad everyone still liked it anyway! And thanks again for supporting now deleted Chapter 6.**

**Guest: Tbh, Tony Stark's toilet seats are probably platinum and gold (and there's a sentence I never thought I'd type).**

**HorrorFan13: Thank you so much! I'm doing my best to make these chapters the best that they can be.**

**Guest: Thank you! I really wanted to explore what it would be like if one of his friends (so- Ned) grew up while he was gone, and we're going to be getting a Peter and Ned chapter really soon! These characters are SO hard to nail, so it means the world that you think I got it.**

**Anikatwashere: I was thinking the same thing! And, it would fit in so perfectly with that Bingo card prompt.**

**Anonymous Person: No, I totally get what you're saying. That would be super cool, actually, and would really tie in to the overall arc of Peter adjusting to the world post-snap (I REFUSE to call it a blip!)**

**Softball Superhero: Stop, you're going to make me cry! Chapter three is my absolute favorite, but has actually performed the worst out of all of them so far.**

**Beccissss: Thank you so much! There are too many feelings and not enough Irondad fluff to deal with it all right now, lol.**

**Wisdom and Sea: It's coming up really soon!**

**Status of Bingo Card: Six of twenty-five. **Gala/Press Event **|Happy Tears | Insomnia** **Peter Meets The Avengers **__Alcohol _**Identity Reveal **_Car Crash **| Career Day | **Hypothermia __ **PTSD** __ **No Anesthesia** __**Jealousy** __ **Sleepy | College | Nightmares | Road Trip | Drugs **__ **Losing Powers **__ **Bullying** __ Homesick **| "I Thought I Lost You" | Panic Attacks | Bruises | Working In The Lab | **Sick Fic

**Again, these chapters are coming up soon, and I REALLLY need suggestions, so if you have an idea, lemme know! : **_**PTSD | Road Trip | Insomnia **_


	7. No Anesthesia

**I'll now be updating the description to reflect the most recent chapter. Don't worry, same story!**

**Also, this chapter's recommended fic for when you're done reading and need a fill of more father/son Tony and Peter is Leisure Sickness by sahiya on Archive of Our Own: "**_**It was called "leisure sickness," Tony eventually learned. It happened to some people—usually workaholic perfectionists who didn't sleep enough and pushed themselves way too hard.**_

_**So... his kid, basically."**_

**Go check it out when you're done reading!**

* * *

"Patrol," Tony scoffed on the other end of the line. "It's just a fancy way of saying that you go _looking _for trouble."

"I am _not-" _Peter paused mid sentence.

"What was that?" Peter could practically _hear_ the smirk in his voice.

"Okay. So maybe you're right," Peter relented.

"I hope you know I recorded that. I'm making that my ringtone now."

"You really don't need to do that."

"I hear it _so rarely,_ though. I should make it my doorbell, too. Get my fix of you telling me I'm right without having to pull your teeth for it."

Peter rolled his eyes before scanning the street below. He heard the low purr of the engine of the car before he saw it, before the driver pressed the petal the floor and the engine _roared, _sound echoing between the skyscrapers and vibrating the buildings.

It was a _nice _car. Not quite as nice as the ones Tony had scored for he and May, but a real looker nonetheless.

"He's not very stealthy for a carjacker," Peter noted.

"No?" Tony asked. "Someone who guns it down the middle of manhattan with the engine screaming is exactly the kind of person who would own one of those cars. Fits right in."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "_You _own one of those cars."

"Exactly. I know my people."

"Right. Well. I'd better go take care of this. Did you call for a reason, orrrr…"

"Just living the glory days vicariously," Tony said nonchalantly.

Peter chuckled. "Hey. You're welcome to fly down here and join me."

"No. Kid. I'm retired. You know that. Pep would kill me if she saw me get in one of those suits again. Besides. I've got the whole blind in one eye and one working arm thing going on, too. Believe it or not, I'm _happy_ being retired."

Peter raised an eyebrow. Tony was plenty capable with his new disabilities and both of them knew it. And no matter how happy Tony claimed to be, he was going stir crazy, pouring himself into Peter's suits now that the iron man suits were more or less dead, and always checking in on Peter's cameras and watching through his lenses. It didn't annoy Peter too much. It was clear to him that Tony was just desperately looking for an outlet for something to do, for something to feel like he was helping, rather than watching him with intent to spy on Peter. And, for the most part, Peter enjoyed the company, enjoyed knowing that Tony valued him. Still, he couldn't help but miss his quiet patrols to himself some nights. That Tony was happy and couldn't do Iron Man anyway because of his arm and eye sounded more like a shitty forced excuse to him rather than a legitimate rationale.

"I seem to recall seeing you in the iron man suit precisely two times since I got back."

"If you make it a third, I'll personally ensure that the third time is the last."

"Is that a _threat, _Tony?" Peter teased.

"Yes. Also, your more immediate threat is _getting away. _Eyes on the road, Parker. You need to be able to walk and talk on missions. Not one or the other."

"Right, right." Peter rolled his eyes and began swinging. Tony's "backseat driving" as Peter had come to call it, was one thing that Peter wouldn't miss. "Hey, I don't tell you how to do your job," Peter had said the first time Tony butted in when he missed one of the bad guys while out on patrol. "You wouldn't _have_ a job if it weren't for me," Tony replied, and Peter had to hand him that one.

He swung down from the rooftop he was perched on. It had been a slow night. No robberies. No weapons. Just a bar fight he'd had to break up and this. He was going to go home after this, he decided. Make some hot chocolate, look over his notes for the day, and call it a job well done.

"Initiating taser web," Karen chimed in his ear. Peter jumped.

"What?! Karen, no! Normal web! _Normal web!" _He was six stories up. What was he going to taze up here?

Sure enough, though, the next web that he cast buzzed with electricity, blue sparks dancing down the length of the web. What was Karen _on? _

He slung it at the adjacent building and the current fizzled harmlessly against the brick.

"Kid?" Tony asked in his ear, but Peter was too preoccupied to answer.

"_Normal. Web. Karen." _Peter stressed again, but Karen didn't answer. She always answered. Even when Peter didn't want her to speak up.

"Kid, this isn't right. I want you down on the ground. Now."

"But the-"

"_Screw_ the carjacker. You can get him when your suit is _working." _

"Fine."

Peter shot his next web, a little lower on the fifth story of the building, beginning his descent to the ground. The next web he shot, though… were the little sparks dancing on the web coming _towards_ him? No… Only, they were. Oh sh-

The electricity jumped up his arm, a net of ice blue stinging threads, and his muscles seized. His hands and shoulders locked. Contracted until the hot shocks of electricity weren't the most painful thing he was experiencing and he was convinced his muscles would rip themselves apart.

_"Peter, let go!" _Tony shouted in his ear. Peter couldn't, though. Tony _had_ to know that. He knew how getting shocked like this worked. He wanted to let go. He wanted to _so so _badly. To just open his hand and stop all of the pain coursing up his arm and neck and across his back, because _good God _it hurt.

In that moment, he vividly remembered Ned leaning over his desk in Chemistry, asking him if he'd ever stood on top of a building and shot his web as far as it would go back when they were the same age. Vividly remembered Liz's party way back when he'd run out to stop Toomes and shooting the web until it had run out on the golf course. How long had it taken until it had run out, again?

Wide eyed, he counted the seconds. One. He swung, hand still forcibly gripping the tazer web. The web stopped deploying. Two. He reached the bottom of the web's arc and began to swing up again. Three. He reached the top of the arc and the web snapped, meant to _taze, _not hold Peter's weight when he went swinging through the city. It launched him into the air higher than the roof of the building that he'd been on just moments ago. His heart pounded in his ears and his limbs flailed.

_"Tony!" _He gasped.

"Parachute! Pete, where's your parachute?!"

The parachute was in his suit still. Locked and loaded, just like Tony always demanded. But, Karen wasn't cooperating right now, wasn't thinking enough to deploy it.

_"Not working, not working, not working!" _Peter chanted as he kept flying through the air. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit!"_

He had no choice but to try shooting a web again. It was that or fall, and that realization made the decision _very _easy.

_"Normal web, Karen! Parachute! _Something!"

Karen didn't reply until Peter was already aiming to shoot the web at a nearby apartment building when Karen finally chimed in his ears.

"Initiating web grenade."

_"NO!" _

He saw the grenade in slow motion as it arced towards the apartment building full of sleeping civilians that he _could not_ let die, let alone with their blood on his hands, saw in slow motion as he reached out to grab it on instinct with the speed only an adrenaline-high superhero could manage.

He clutched the grenade to his chest as he fell. As the ground came zooming towards his face.

_"Mr. Stark, ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod." _

_"Peter!" _

Tony's face flickered on screen, sheet white and the very pinnacle of terror.

Peter kept expecting an Iron Man suit to materialize out of nowhere and pull him to safety like that first time with Toomes, like all of the other times that he'd been in such immediate danger. But, there would be none of that tonight. He'd used up all of that luck the first few times around.

_"PETER!" _

Tony was too far away. All of his suits were too far away. There was nothing anybody could do this time.

Peter couldn't decide if he should squeeze his eyes shut or watch wide-eyed as the ground zoomed towards him. He spotted an empty alleyway off to the side and threw the grenade into it before squeezing his eyes shut.

"_No,no,no,no,no,no!" _Tony repeated in Peter's ears like a mantra. Peter only swallowed. The wind rushing past his face was no longer exhilarating. The stomach in your throat feeling was no longer a thrill.

The sound of traffic got closer. The sound of the wind got louder. Peter's heart nearly lept out of his chest. What would Tony tell May? What would happen to Tony? To Happy? His last thought that was that he hoped they could be happy together. Hoped they'd have a good life, weird as it may be.

The impact in the little alley rattled him to the core. His vision went black as he rolled. Pain blossomed like knives in every part of his body. He couldn't even describe it. It wasn't a burning or a stinging or a stabbing pain, or a soreness. It was just _pain _in its purest form. Finally he skidded onto his back, blinking a blurry sort of vision back into his eyes.

Not a moment later, the grenade went off. Peter wanted to move, at least to shield his face from the fallout of the blast, but his limbs were too slow to cooperate.

Broken bits of stone smacked him in the face and all across the front of his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and winced.

Tony's picture blinked to life in the lenses of Peter's goggles. His face was frantic, hair so disheveled that one might have thought it was Tony who just fell out of the sky.

"Peter?" Tony's voice was barely a whisper.

The wind had been knocked out of Peter fully and completely. He couldn't talk. Couldn't even draw a breath in. His mind raced. Why couldn't he breathe? Did he break his neck? Was he going to die for real this time? Shouldn't he already be dead?

"Say something. Blink. Peter, do _something. _Karen. Vitals. Now."

Karen was silent.

"_No, no, _no! This can't be happening!"

Peter, agonizingly, forced a series of blinks, squeezing his eyes shut with each one. Suddenly, without his permission, his chest rose, gulping in all of the air it had been deprived of. He shrieked in pain, which only made it all worse, and he clamped his mouth shut and screwed his eyes closed even tighter.

"Oh thank fuck." Tony breathed. "Are you okay?"

"No," Peter whimpered, wrapping his arms around his ribs. "Hurts."

"I know, I know." Even as Tony said it, he panicked more, eyes frenzied. Peter never admitted to being too hurt. He always got right back up, insisting he was fine. Always. "I've got an ambulance on the way. Nearest suit is eight minutes out. Ambulance is twelve. I'm twenty-five minutes out by suit."

"No-" Peter gasped. Talking hurt. It hurt a lot. "No am'lance. Identity. Secret."

"Yeah. Sorry to break it to you, kid, but when it comes down to you dying, or your secret identity dying, I'm gonna have to go with the secret identity. Every time. I'll bribe the paramedics or something."

"Please?" His eyes pleaded with Tony and it almost broke him. "Please? May. MJ. Ned. I can't- They-"

"They'll be fine. Nobody is going to hurt them with the two of us around."

Peter shook his head and the motion made it spin. "Mr. S- T'ny. _I _won't be."

Tony's eyes grew both harder and impossibly more defeated. "The suit will run a diagnostic on you when it gets there. If it's not too serious, I'll call the paramedics off."

"Mph." Peter laid his head down against the concrete and winced.

"What hurts, exactly?" The sound of the suit firing up roared through the other end of the line.

Peter pinched his mouth shut and didn't answer. No more talking. Talking hurt too much.

"C'mon, kid. You've gotta give me something."

Peter shook his head, and the motion sent the buildings above his head spinning. He couldn't focus his eyes on anything and his stomach lurched. He finally moved a hand to cover his mouth until the world stopped spinning, breathing deeply between his fingers.

"Are you about to get sick?" Tony asked.

"Might be," Peter mumbled.

Tony frowned. "Can you turn your head? I don't want you choking on your own vomit or anything."

Peter tried turning his head but winced. The city went spinning again. _Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop _he mouthed.

Tony looked truly and utterly broken in that moment. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and only mumbled "suit is there."

Sure enough, the automated suit, not for the first time, descended from the sky and landed gently next to him like the angel from above that it was.

"Alright." Tony took a deep breath as he connected to the automated suit. "Give me a reading. A diagnostic. Yeah. That's the word."

"Heartbeat detected."

Tony blanched at the words. "Yeah, yeah, _I know._ What _else_ is wrong?"

Tony looked away from his screen as FRIDAY read out the grocery list of things wrong with Peter. "Concussion, basal skull fracture, three fractured ribs, a broken collarbone, a fractured scapula, bruising, and several abrasions along the shoulders and right side. No injuries appear to be life threatening."

Tony only frowned. "What about that concussion? How bad is it?"

The automated suit whirred for a second and the sound pierced through Peter's skull like a knife.

"There is no sign of brain swelling. However, this is Mr. Parker's third concussion in the past twelve months. Further head trauma at this rate may result in chronic emcephalopathy.

Tony looked at Peter angrily through his lenses. "Hear that, kid?"

"I dunno wha' that means," he slurred.

"Means you're messed up in the head."

"We already knew that," came Peter's response, even as he winced at the effort it took to speak.

"_Three?! _I thought this was the _second? _The first was the crash and this is the _second! _Where the _hell _did you get the third concussion and why don't I know about it?"

"_Shhh," _Peter winced. Noise. Way too much noise.

Tony's eyes hardened even more. "I'll be there in ten minutes, and we're _talking _about this."

"Mph." Peter agreed. "Tony?"

"What?"

"No ambulance."

"Right, right, I'll go call them off. This is against my better judgement, though."

* * *

Tony didn't bring it up when he landed, though. He landed much more gently than he had that first time after the crash, hovering in the air a few feet away, face plate off, as if he didn't want to believe that the scene in front of him was real. Peter. Crumpled on the pavement in front of him. Because of _his _technology and, presumably, _his _fuck-up.

"Peter?"

Peter only made a grunt in response. No quips. No jokes. Nothing classically Peter. "This one's bad, isn't it?" he asked.

Peter's silence was answer enough. Non life threatening didn't mean it was any less painful.

"Okay. Okay." Tony took a deep breath. "Let's see what we're working with here." He gently reached over and pressed the spider button.

Peter's mask eyes flew open (and oh- THAT was working?!) and he gasped, trying to push himself away further into the alley concrete.

"I know, I know. We need to get it off, though. Mask, too. Let's take it off."

Peter tried to reach up, but, once again, the motion sent a surge of pain through him so strong that his vision started sparkling. He didn't even hear the startled yelp that left his lips.

"Sorry, _sorry!" _Tony's face contorted in pain of its own as he peeled the suit's sleeve back. It finally snapped off and they both winced in unison.

"And now the mask."

Pain prickled across Peter's scalp at the slightest touch and his muscles seemed to lock up as the mask was removed. By the time Tony got enough of the mask off to see what he could do, Peter was a broken, sweaty, bloody mess on the ground.

"I'm really going to need my people to stop falling out of the sky and almost dying. Capiche?"

Peter was panting so hard, hiccuping in pain with every breath, that Tony almost missed the "no promises."

Tony smiled in spite of himself. The sass was back.

"Okay, okay." he traced his eyes down across Peter's collarbone. It wasn't the hairline fracture that his shoulder blade was. It was visibly at an angle beneath the skin, and despite everything Tony had seen in his career, his stomach flipped a bit. It was different seeing the injuries on _Peter. _

"Did you land on this shoulder when you rolled?"

"Yeah."

Tony looked at Peter's trembling form and felt like the most useless, underqualified person who could possibly be there. Few situations reduced him to that. He wasn't a doctor. Peter needed a doctor.

"Pete… Pete, I'm sorry. You need your collar bone reset. And stitches. You need a hospital."

He cracked his eyes open again. "M'kay."

"Okay? You're going along with this? Just like that?"

He mustered a thumbs up with his good arm. "How long 'til Happy picks us up 'n brings us to the compound?"

"Compound?" Tony shook his head. "Peter, it was iffy taking you back there before the bone set wrong when you had a good hundred miles behind you on the way to come visit. You- we can't go to the compound. You need something here."

Peter sighed, as shallow as he could manage. "Help me sit up."

Tony looked at him skeptically, but crouched down and finagled an arm under Peter's shoulders, slowly scooting him into a sitting position against the wall of whatever building the alley was up against.

"Agh!" Peter yelled. His head lolled over to Tony's arm and Tony didn't protest.

"Yeah," Tony said, patting him on the shoulder he hadn't landed on once he was sitting enough. "That's it. Just catch your breath."

"No," Peter wheezed. "No deep breaths."

"Right, right. Broken ribs. Shallow breaths, then."

Peter nodded, slowly this time, so as not to send the cityscape spinning again. "Okay. Let's do this."

"I've got the hospital on speed dial,"

"No," Peter said. There was no emotion in his voice or eyes. "Let's set this and stitch it up. Right here."

Tony opened and closed his mouth a few times, but couldn't manage to form any words. "Peter, _no." _

"Yes."

"We are _not_ _resetting a bone and stitching you up in an alley next to a dumpster." _

"Why not?"

"_Because!" _Tony sputtered. "I'm not a doctor."

"You know know more than most doctors. And you have FRIDAY to tell you what to do. You sayings you made FRIDAY incapable?"

_"No," _Tony countered defensively. "Pete. We have no anesthesia. This is going to hurt like a _bitch."_

Peter took a slow breath and nodded softly. "Okay."

_"Kid." _

"I can't have anyone finding out, Tony."

"I told you, I'll bribe them."

"Not good enough."

"I'm still a bit clumsy with the new arm… and sight in one eye..." His face crumpled.

"I trust you."

Tony shook his head incredulously and he stepped back. "I can't believe I'm doing this. How do you talk me into this stuff? FRIDAY? How do I reset a collarbone _with my bare hands on a Queens alley sidewalk? _

He put his face plate back on, grateful that it would be hiding his facial expressions, and FRIDAY mapped out where to move the bone in front of his eyes.

For so long, Tony had hated that he had no sensation in the Iron Man arm. For the first time, he was grateful. He didn't think he'd be able to stomach feeling the bone move beneath Peter's skin. He reached over and took the thin bone through his fingers. FRIDAY's aid showed him exactly where to move it.

Peter leaned his head back and bared his teeth, not even daring to breathe. His fists balled up at the slightest touch.

"I know. I know. This is going to take a minute."

_"Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit-" _Peter hissed through his teeth.

"Breathe through it." The bone moved easily underneath the thin skin and Peter made a guttural sound that Tony didn't even think people could make.

"Can't."

"Just breathe the best you can."

" 'kay." His voice was choked and strained.

Peter's jaw clenched and unclenched as Tony followed FRIDAY's instructions and slid the bone back into place. It fit back together with a sickening kind of click.

"Here. Here." Tony took the sleeve of Peter's suit, still only half on and dangling, covering only his lower half, and tied it around Peter's arm. "This'll have to do. We can stop at a Walgreens or something for a real sling later.

"It's done?" Peter asked.

"The bone is. We still need to do stitches."

"Give-" Peter trembled and leaned against Tony for support. "Give me a second. Dizzy. Really dizzy."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He pulled Peter into his side to steady him and could feel his trembling through the suit. "No Spiderman for a few weeks, okay?"

"Okay. Yeah, that sounds-" he stopped for air. "That sounds reasonable."

Tony patted his shoulder and stared at the wall on the other side of the alley way. He was going to need things like this to stop happening. He just got him back.

"I think I'm good for you to go ahead and do those stitches now."

"Are you sure? You're not going to pass out on me?"

"No promises." There was no teasing in Peter's voice this time.

"Let me know if you need a breather."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just get this over with."

"Okay."

Peter kept his eyes squeezed shut as Tony worked on the gash left by the debris of the web grenade blast. His back was already sticky with dried blood, and thank God for his quick clotting factor.

Tony started sewing and Peter's muscles jumped every time the needle went in.

"Do you have to put the needle so deep?" he grunted.

"Yes, actually. Hold still. We're two in. I've only got three more."

Peter hissed again with the next stitch.

"Where did you even get a needle and stitching from?"

"The suit. Nanotechnology. Just reshaping it into thread for now. You'll have to come back up in a few weeks to get it removed. I don't know if I trust this stuff to just slither its way out of you."

"That why it hurts so much?"

"Nope. That's just stitches."

Peter grunted in pain as the needle plunged in again. "It's never hurt this much before..."

"You've never done this without any sort of numbing agent before."

"Ugh."

"Do you need me to stop?"

"No," Peter whispered. "Keep... just do it fast."

"Okay." Tony pulled the broken skin together with one last stitch. "Done."

They both leaned their heads back against the wall, taking things in.

"So I guess I'm confined to the medbay for a bit again?"

Tony sighed and checked his watch. "It's rush hour, and it'll be _hours _before Happy can get here. I think…"

"Tony, no."

"Yes."

"Don't say it."

"We're going to have to invoke the wrath of May Parker."

* * *

"How did it happen?" May's eyes darted between Tony and Peter in her back seat. Peter was still dazed in pain with his head propped against the window.

The two shared a look. Did they dare tell her that Karen malfunctioned? Would she let him go out in the suit if she knew?

"I-uh. I ran out of web fluid," Peter tried lamely.

"Again, Peter?!"

"What do you mean _again?!" _Tony spun on him. "Why aren't I getting reports about this stuff unless-" His eyes widened in realization and he cut it short, and he looked up to the front seat to see if May was still watching them.

"Unless what?" May's eyes narrowed.

"Unless I need to have a word with one of my records keepers," Tony finished, but he shot Peter a look. A very '_I know you've been tampering with Karen again, you little shit' _look. Peter gulped as May pulled into a parking spot next to a Rite-Aid.

"Okay. Sling and a _ton_ of advil to overcome Peter's metabolism until we can get Cap's painkillers shipped down here, right? That'll be enough for those fractures?"

"Right," Tony said.

"Okay."

The moment the car door closed, Tony was on his case.

"Peter! You promised! No more of the games!"

"I'm sorry, Ton-"

"Nope. Nope. It's Mr. Stark again right now."

Peter gave him a deadpan stare. "You instituted a bubble wrap protocol."

"It's not that bad."

"It shuts down the suit if I'm not in bed by ten pm."

"No, that's _naptime_ protocol."

"Ugh." Peter pressed his cheek against the glass, relishing in the coolness against his hot skin.

"You're still a kid, Pete. Try to enjoy some of that and try to enjoy still having people who will take care of you."

Peter would have laughed if he didn't know how much that would hurt with broken ribs. As if he or May would ever stop. Not that he really wanted them to in the end.

"You- tampering with the suit… it opens it up for cyber attacks if you don't do it right. And especially when we've been updating it so often… when… when _I've _been updating it so often…" he stared straight ahead. "I guess we both did this…"

"Can-" Peter huffed. The pain was starting to come back in stronger waves. "Can we talk about it later? I… I know it's important, I'm just… not up for it right now."

All the fight left Tony's body. "Yeah. Sure."

May came scurrying back to the car with an armful of bags. "I got that new movie you'd been talking about from Redbox."

"Redbox is still a thing?"

"It is."

And so, for the rest of the night, the trio piled around Peter's bad as he drifted in and out of chattiness and lethargy, only sort of following the plot of the movie. May and Tony exchanged stories from their college days while Peter begged them not to make him laugh until his ribs healed a bit more, until the sound of Peter's voice echoed around the room: "_Okay, so maybe you're right… Okay, so maybe you're right… Okay, so maybe you're right… " _

"Ope. It's Morgan calling to say goodnight. Hold on, I've gotta take this."

"Did you _actually _make that your ringtone?"

Tony smirked. "Someone has to remind you not to go looking for trouble."

Peter shrugged with his one shoulder and snuggled deeper under his mountain of blankets, watching the end of the movie through bleary eyes. "It worked out tonight."

* * *

**Don't worry, I haven't given up on the story. A ton of major aspect of my life (job, living arrangements, school arrangements, relationships with some people, etc.) all changed in one week, and I'd be lying if I said I've been taking it well … but ONTO REVIEWS!**

**Marteeey: Y'all. Martey commented on my now deleted chapter, and couldn't comment on the new one and PM'd me a review instead. That is seriously the sweetest gesture ever, thank you SO much. Made my day a million times better. **

**CaptainS10: Thank you so much! Tony/Peter fluff is my life! You have no idea how much I love just sitting down at night and reading about their father/son relationship, and I love that this story can be that for other readers. **

**Mary: TYSM! I hope that this chapter was enough hurt!Peter for the time being, but I am **_**totally**_ **jotting down some of those ideas. Also, welcome! I'm so happy that this story is still reaching new readers like yourself.**

**Beccissss: Thank you so so so so **_**so **_**much: I hope you enjoyed this one as well. I tried to make it a bit longer in the time I've had to work on it. ;) **

****Status of Bingo Card: Seven of twenty-five. ****Gala/Press Event ****|Happy Tears | Insomnia**** |****Peter Meets The Avengers |****Alcohol |_**Identity Reveal |**_Car Crash ****| Career Day | ****Hypothermia |****PTSD**** |No Anesthesia |****Jealousy|**** ****Sleepy |****College****| Nightmares | Road Trip | Drugs| Losing Powers |Bullying**** |Homesick ****| "I Thought I Lost You" | Panic Attacks | Bruises | Working In The Lab | ****Sick Fic

_**Please leave a review if you enjoyed, I love hearing from all of you!**_


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